In the Heart of the Castle
by Docile Boy
Summary: A story about love and strange magics and the aftermath of war. Not DH epilogue or Pottermore compliant. MM/HG pairing.
1. Prologue

A delicate buff colored barn owl tapped decorously on Hermione Granger's back garden window. She slid the sash up and took the cream colored packet from its beak.

"Don't go anywhere, pretty thing. I'll get you a bit of sausage to tide you over till you get home." The owl gave a soft 'hurrrrr' and preened a wing, nonchalant. After bolting its treat, it turned and pushed off silently into the warm morning air.

Hermione looked at the letter in her hands. Edged in green and black tartan, it was sealed with emerald wax; two swooping letter m's made the seal's relief. Hermione's heart began to beat a little faster. She lifted the wax, releasing the faint scent of lavender into the small kitchen. Forgetting she was alone in the house, she looked around guiltily before bringing the missive to her nose and inhaling. Her heart beat faster still. She unfolded the letter completely.

15 July 2000

Dear Ms Granger - Hermione,

As I sat down to begin my portion of of the new student letters, it struck me that nearly a year had gone by since I last heard from you; longer still since I had actually laid eyes upon you. It troubles me that my interrogations of Molly and Ginevra and Harry have yielded nothing beyond that you are 'fine'. You deserve so much more than 'fine', Hermione. I don't want to plead with you to confide in me, but would it help if I pledged to read any correspondence in cat form? Please know that I am here for you, if needed.

Fondly,

Minerva McGonagall

Hermione was crying in earnest. At Grimmauld Place, she had spent many a summer evening talking over problems and planning out her future in the company of a small, affectionate gray tabby. The tabby had never answered back, not in English anyways, but had made its opinions clear. Hermione swiped at her face, not wanting the ink on the precious letter to run.

Hermione had spent the last two miserable years with Ronald living in memories of those nights; falling asleep with a contentedly purring cat curled up on her extra pillow or in the bend of her knees; had spent the past two miserable years paralyzed with shame and fear and a dozen other emotions that she could not reconcile with the person she was supposed to be. After all, how could she have asked Minerva McGonagall something like: "Could we just go back to those summers where you were a cat and spent almost every night in my bed and I could tell you everything?"

She let out a laugh that burbled from her throat as a mucus filled croak. Apparently she could have asked that, and more, had she been bold enough. But Minerva had been the bold one, unsurprisingly, and Hermione might not have been the 'carpe diem' type, but she was not about to waste this opportunity. She found quill and parchment and began to write.


	2. Chapter 1

Hermione's life was in shambles; her days as a member of the 'golden trio' had sunk into the deepest recesses of her memory. Though those days were filled with the terror of war, the fear of a rising tyrant, and the desperation of fighting for the lives of loved ones, there was also the camaraderie of shared purpose and the strengthening of bonds between the extended family that was The Order of the Phoenix. But all that was over now; in the two intervening years, Hermione had cut off almost all contact with her friends and family in order to hide not only the ugly downturn of her relationship with Ron, but Ron's descent into paranoia and anger.

After the final battle of the second war with Voldemort; the goofy, good-natured, affable young man had changed - he was anxious and full of rage; he didn't sleep, rarely socialized and generally spent his anger on Hermione. She had turned down apprenticeships and University positions in order to keep Ron from flying off the handle at her, and to keep his condition a secret. After spending seven years fixing things for Ron and Harry; getting them out of scrapes and solving their problems, she had to admit that this problem had escaped her control - and had done so long ago. She had tried to push Ron to get treatment for what was probably severe PTSD, but he resisted, strenuously. Past a certain point, Hermione just kept her head down, pushing too hard would result in media attention and scrutiny from well-meaning friends. Hermione just wanted to get by - until now. Ron was putting increasing amounts of pressure on her to marry him. Although she wanted to support her friend, the man that had been through so much, she was not going to more permanently chain herself to this catastrophe of a relationship.

But it was over. An out had appeared by owl a few weeks past, like some sort of divine summons. A means of escape that thrilled her and gave her hope for the future, and hope that the relationships that had been tempered in the stresses of war had not been broken. She was going back to Hogwarts as an apprentice in Transfiguration and teaching. The teaching apprenticeship came from the Board of Directors of the school, but the Transfiguration apprenticeship, that had come personally from Minerva McGonagall herself.

Minerva had reached out to her former student, tentatively, about six weeks ago when she could no longer abide the lack of communication. The headmistress had reminded Hermione of the closeness they had shared in the strange cloistered environment of the Order headquarters, and in a flurry of owls, Hermione disclosed everything about the past two years to the older witch, whose first reaction was to drop everything and bring Hermione to stay with her forthwith. Hermione had managed to allay Minerva's concerns enough to make her understand that immediate action was not necessary.

But now it was time. Everything she owned had been shrunk down to fit in her small wheeled suitcase and she had her escape route, all that was left was to tell Ron, and he was due home from his Auror apprenticeship any minute.

She heard a 'pop' from the outside terrace, and the garden door slide open. Ron's robes were neat and he carried a bunch of night-blooming star daisies. This was a good sign; his work hadn't triggered his symptoms today, so there was a chance she could get out without facing his rage.

"Hermione, I picked these up on Diagon Alley, some new hybrid Sprout and Neville are working on." He had turned into the kitchen and busied himself finding a vase for the flowers. He looked up to see Hermione sitting rigid on the couch, her suitcase at her feet. "Oi, what the bloody hell is this now?" His face darkened, and Hermione could see his jaw clench, she fought down a flinch.

"Ron, I'm leaving. Our relationship is a wreck and is going nowhere, and you won't take my support or deal with any of your issues. I have to find somewhere to go and something to do that isn't so damn painful every day." She stood, palming the wand that had been tucked into the right sleeve of her blouse - just as a precaution.

Ron moved around the counter, fists balled, jaw working, taking a few steps towards her. Hermione thought she heard him growl. She took one last, anguished look at him, clutched the handle of her suitcase, and disapparated.

Minerva felt the wards around Hogwarts Castle ping as someone apparated just outside the gates. She pulled her curtain back and peered out her window across the broad swath of lawn - a slender silhouette stood alone with a suitcase. Her guest had arrived.

Minerva focused her will, and with a little twist of the energies that swirled through the school, found herself standing on the gravel path next to Hermione.

"Oh! Minerva, I didn't realize you could apparate from within the school." Hermione had a hand over her heart, looking pale and startled in the titian light of the setting late summer sun.

"Headmistress's prerogative, my dear. I'm glad to see you made it in one piece. Let's get inside and get you settled before the evening meal."

Minerva flipped out her wand and shot a levitating charm at Hermione's suitcase. They progressed quietly through the grounds and up to the castle, the suitcase floating along behind like some strange, wheeled puppy.

"Hermione, I took the liberty of preparing you a room in my quarters. I want you to feel safe, but if you are uncomfortable, then we can find something more to your liking, but I find I wanted to keep you close." Minerva looked almost bashful at her admission.

Hermione nodded, also shy. She looked sideways at Minerva, her eyes lidded, lashes veiling her gaze. "Thanks for this opportunity, Minerva. I hope you didn't go out of your way to do this for me."

"Hermione, you are eminently qualified for a position as my apprentice, and equally as qualified for a position as assistant in the transfiguration classroom. It was simply happy circumstance that I could give a friend a chance to distance herself from a difficult situation."

Minerva could see Hermione fighting back tears. Minerva gripped the young witch's hand, and squeezed.

"My dear, you'll get through this, and I'll be here every step of the way. Now lets get this bag up to your new room, and we can relax a while before we sleep."

Minerva's quarters were as elegant as the woman herself, dark woods and rich colors with little ornamentation, but cozy, much as Hermione remembered from her school days discussing advanced transfiguration and magical theory till the wee hours. The head's quarters were, naturally, larger than the suite Minerva occupied as deputy: a large tower sitting room with picture windows at each end, two sizable bedrooms, and a bathroom with two vanities, and the latest in muggle/wizarding hybrid technology - a large bubble jet tub.

Minerva had ensconced Hermione on her sofa with a cup of tea and was currently unpacking Hermione's suitcase for her, over the younger witch's strenuous objections. Books, robes, muggle clothing and various bric-a-brac were floating from the depth of the suitcase, popping smartly to their normal size, and progressing in an orderly fashion to the wardrobe, shelves, and dresser. MInerva was standing in the midst of chaos, chatting about the upcoming term, returning staff and students, and her ongoing efforts to support her aging staff with apprentices eager to become masters of both magical arts and teaching arts. Hermione smiled into her tea at the picture the Headmistress made, a swirl of t-shirts floating past her head, a cloud of books, like literary gnats, crowding her torso.

Minerva stepped out of the guest room, wand in hand, Hermione's books trickling out behind her in a now orderly procession to shelve themselves next to the window. "I hope you're comfortable here with me Hermione. You must think of these rooms as your own." She sat next to Hermione on the deep green couch. "Now I've cleared some space for a desk beneath the window and shifted some of my collection to leave room on a bookshelf. What sort would you fancy?"

"I've never known you to have an empty space on a bookshelf."

"I simply transferred some of my collection to the library at my home and weeded out things that had no lasting value. It was time; I had not pruned the shelves in some time." Hermione looked faintly scandalized at the notion that every book was not worth keeping.

"My junk reading tastes run to ridiculous muggle thrillers, Hermione. Not exactly worth a reread, as I am sure you are aware." Hermione raised an eyebrow at her. "Fine! I boxed them up and put them in storage at the Manor. You know me too well, just as I know you will try to keep out of the way by working in the library. Now pick a desk, or I will stick you with something hideous and complain about it all term."

"If you insist, Professor." Hermione grinned wryly and the corners of Minerva's mouth lifted in response. "I'm not picky, Minerva. Just make it large enough to hold some clutter and give me a comfortable chair."

"As the lady orders." Minerva's eyes closed, and her nostrils flared briefly. A large mahogany table shimmered into being beneath the window. Shortly after it solidified, a secretary chair complete with squashy looking cushion appeared next to it.

Hermione looked over at her former professor, now mentor and friend. The woman practically glowed. The two years since the end of the war had eased the lines of strain around her eyes; her hair, black as the waters of the Loch, faintly touched with silver at the temples, gleamed dully in in the light of the heatless fire. The green of her eyes was drenched in magic, like sunlight through a flawless emerald. The force of the magic behind Minerva's gaze fairly took her breath away.

"You're looking highly magical and quite relaxed these days, Minerva."

The corners of Minerva's mouth flicked up briefly. "I feel quite rejuvenated after my summer holiday, Hermione. A school year is much easier to recover from if one is not worrying about dark wizards or rebuilding a castle. My equilibrium is finally restored to me."

Hermione cast her eyes down and heaved a sigh, a sad smile misshaping her lips. Grasping Hermione's hand in hers, she turned her body to face the younger witch. "Oh my dear, we will have you on firmer ground in no time at all. And we will do what we can to get help for young Ronald as well."

"I hold very few hope for Ron ever accepting the assistance of anyone, Minerva. He has resisted all the help Ginny, Harry and I have tried to offer, it just makes him angrier and more resistant."

"Hermione, I am a veteran of three wizarding wars, and am intimately familiar with PTSD sufferers and their needs. Young Ronald did far too much for all of us to let him languish forever."

Hermione wasn't cognizant of the tear sliding down her left cheek. "I feel so responsible for letting him hurt this long."

Hermione didn't notice the cloud pass in front of Minerva's eyes. "You'll get your love back, Hermione. You are owed it, and Ron is owed it. If I have to stun him and drag him to therapy myself..."

Hermione cut her off. "Oh, Minerva, no. His love will not allow me to have the life that I want. He wants a Molly. I am most definitely not a Molly." She squeezed Minerva's hand, taking comfort in her warm skin, in the slight moisture on her palm. "It took a long time for me to realize that Ron's well-being cannot be my responsibility, not when I am struggling myself, dealing with the aftermath of the war." Hermione's tears were falling freely now. "I let go of the responsibility, but I cannot seem to let go of the guilt that plagues me due to my inability to help him."

With a hint of tears in her own eyes, Minerva exclaimed, "You have to stop being so hard on yourself, Hermione." In her sorrow, Minerva's Scottish burr was leeching into her normally precise tones. "You are not abdicating all responsibility for Ron's recovery, merely resorting to a different type of leverage. I seem to recall you resorting to authority with Ronald before, when reason did not move him. It does not mean you care any less, does it?"

Hermione managed a tremulous grin at Minerva's appeal to her own reason. "No, I guess not."

You are entitled to move on with your life, Hermione. Once Ronald is feeling more like himself, I am sure he will understand."

"I hope so," the young witch mumbled, her chin head bowed in weariness and resignation. "It's..." Her voice breaks. "Lets just leave this for another time, Minerva. Just knowing I have your support is such a comfort for now, the rest can wait."

There is an apology in Minerva's eyes when she catches Hermione's gaze, and she softened her voice, "Dinner then, my dear?"

Hermione settled back into the large four-poster that was to be her bed for at least the next nine months. Back at Hogwarts, now to assist in educating the future generation of witches and wizards, and also continuing her own education in Transfiguration. She was so grateful for this respite, even if it was only temporary, and was anticipating the start of term in two weeks. Most of all, she was looking forward to renewing her friendship with Minerva. The older witch seemed so different than during the last year or so of the war - the magic practically crackled off her, and she looked younger and more relaxed than she had even during Hermione's first year as a student. Hermione couldn't fathom it.

Minerva's concern and gentle humor were like a balm on Hermione's bruised soul, and certainly not what she had expected. She had anticipated support, sure, but Minerva was incorporating her into her life and home, and for the first time in nearly two years, Hermione felt at peace.


	3. Chapter 2

Hermione woke to the sound of the shower turning on in the bathroom. She stretched, and with a wave of her hands, opened the blackout curtains that blocked her view of a sweeping expanse of the castle grounds. In the bathroom, a throaty contralto was singing:

_O luaidh, 's truagh nach deachaidh sinn_

_E luaidh, 's truagh nach deachaidh sinn_

_O gura truagh a'cheist, o luaidh_

_Nach robh mi san uaigh mun d'fhuair mi sealladh ort_

_O luaidh_

Hermione smiled as the words were drowned out by the shower. The song continued in a low hum. Hermione was certain she had never had a more pleasant wake up call.

Hermione swung her legs out of bed and padded into the living area. "Tilley," she said to the empty air. Minerva had introduced Hermione to the house elf at dinner the previous evening.

The air pressure dropped, and Tilley appeared noiselessly a few feet in front of Hermione. "Miss Hermione, good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well, thank you. Do you know what Minerva plans for breakfast, Tilley?"

"The mistress was waiting for you to wake up and give you her preferences before I brought a tray. What would you like to eat?"

Hermione flushed a little at Minerva's forethought. "Is she going to take care of me the whole year?"

The house elf chuckled, which deepened Hermione's blush. "Most probably, Miss Hermione. You look as though you could use it. Indulge her. Indulge both of us." Tilley straightened her immaculate tartan uniform and gazed fondly up at the young witch whose arrival had her mistress singing in the shower. "Now, breakfast order, young miss."

By the time Minerva made egress from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Hermione was halfway through a bowl of oatmeal packed with fruit and walnuts. A steaming mug of coffee rested on the side table next to the couch. Minerva's breakfast and a pot of tea awaited her on the coffee table.

"Minerva! Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Minerva looked, if it was possible, even more energized and relaxed than the previous evening. Her black hair was still damp and hung in waves to the small of her back, and the heat of the shower had left a rosy flush on her cheeks and neck. The woman exuded good health and magical vigor.

"Ah, Miss Granger. You look well rested. And partaking of my hospitality without me, I see." Minerva grinned at her, clearly feeling playful this morning.

"The blame is all yours, Professor. The food smelled entirely too good to resist."

Minerva settled herself into the armchair perpendicular to the couch and pulled the cover off her plate of eggs and home fries. The light weight under-robe that Minerva was wearing was a lovely shade of green not dissimilar to the color of new plant growth in spring. The robe was sleeveless with a notched collar that exposed delicate clavicles. Minerva's arms were whipcord and bone beneath smooth, milky skin. Hermione found herself fascinated by the play of muscle in the older woman's forearms and biceps as she poured herself tea and took the first bites of her breakfast.

"I'd forgotten how well the house elves treated my stomach during my school days." Hermione peered across the top of her mug at the older woman and cocked an eyebrow at her. "You know, I don't believe I've ever seen your arms above the elbow, Professor. I feel almost scandalized."

The expression Minerva flashed her around a bite of eggs could only be described as a smirk. She finished chewing, "Well, we couldn't very well be starting riots among the students by letting them see that professors have..." she leaned towards Hermione and glanced around the room, subtly flexing her rather impressive bicep, "...guns."

"Indeed you couldn't, professor. Indeed you couldn't," Hermione bit out, managing to keep a straight face, though Minerva's haughtily raised eyebrow soon set her giggling. "Wherever did you learn that bit of slang, Minerva McGonagall?"

"Unlike a good portion of the wizarding world, Hermione, I have been to a movie theatre," Minerva sniffed.

"Good to know

Hermione finished off her oatmeal and picked up her coffee mug. "What's in the cards for today?"

"Filius and I have a meeting at ten with a few Ministry officials in regards to our annual wizarding jobs fair. I was thinking that this evening we could have a short review of NEWT level transfigurations, and perhaps discuss where you wish to begin your course of study."

Minerva scraped the last of her eggs off her plate with her fork; considering Hermione carefully as she chewed. After swallowing, she asked, "Do you have any interest in animagus training, my dear?"

It was Hermione's turn to smirk. She placed her mug on the coffee table and drew her knees up to her chest. In a blink, a finely featured fox in short brownish-red summer coat sat on the couch, its white tipped tail tucked around its front feet.

Minerva clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh 'Mione, how lovely you are. _Vulpes vulpes crucigera_, am I right?" The Hermione fox sneezed in agreement. Minerva settled herself on the couch next to Hermione, her clever hands seeking out the spot just at the base of Hermione's ears that felt like nirvana with the gentle application of fingernails.

"Well, seeing as how I would have been notified had you registered your form, this is definitely a matter that requires attention." Hermione sneezed her agreement and tilted her head up to press her cold nose into the base of Minerva's neck. "And of course we will head out for run this evening, as well."

Minerva stood and looked down at her pupil, stunned and pleasantly surprised at Hermione's adeptness in transfiguration. "Alright, enough mucking about, my dear. You'll need to shower so you can accompany Filius and I to the Ministry."

Hermione leapt to the floor, her frame lengthening in the air until she stood next to Minerva. "Just brilliant, Hermione. No hesitation in the change whatsoever. Quite an accomplishment."

Hermione blushed, still reveling in the power and fluidity of her change. "That's a recent development, up until a few weeks ago, it took me about thirty seconds to complete the transformation."

"How long did it take you to reach this level of mastery, Hermione. I had no inkling that you had begun studying self-transformation."

Hermione blushed again. "Truthfully, Minerva, it only took me about three months to learn. And since I wasn't working or continuing my education formally, I had to do something with my time."

"Exceptional, truly. And your form, it chose you, am I right?"

"Yes. But, there's... It's just that...there's something else." Hermione was beet red now and chewing on her bottom lip. Minerva's curiosity was kindled. Hermione was never reticent about sharing a magical accomplishment, and how she had come to master it. And she rarely stammered. She must be embarrassed. Or frightened.

"Hermione, I am not going to be angry at you for anything you share with me regarding your animagus abilities. I trust your instincts and your skill. With magic as powerful as yours, the unexpected can sometimes happen." At this, Hermione cast her eyes down to the floor, reluctant to meet Minerva's intense green gaze. "I registered you as my apprentice over a year ago to give you a little protection against experiments, successful or otherwise."

Minerva was protecting her? Even when contact between them was nearly nonexistent? Minerva's claim over her work was a powerful affirmation - the Ministry would fear Minerva's wrath if they had meddled in Hermione's experimentation. That made Hermione just a bit more ashamed that she hadn't contacted her mentor when she had experienced a rather strange...side effect in her self-transfiguration.

Sliding her fingers underneath Hermione's chin, Minerva raised the younger witch's amber eyes to her own. "Hermione, just tell me. We'll make it alright."

Looking down at her feet again, Hermione sighed. "Alright, Minerva, but I can't tell you, I'll need to show you. And I'll need some more room."

A flick of Minerva's wrist pushed the living suite closer to the fire place. Hermione shot one more grim look at Minerva and closed her eyes. Pain contorted her face, and the air suddenly smelt of frost and pine and canine and the chill in the air stung Minerva's nostrils when she inhaled; where Hermione had been standing was a massive shaggy coated wolf.

At least three feet at the shoulder, wolf Hermione looked to be more than two hundred pounds of solid muscle covered in brown fur that matched the young witch's hair exactly. The eyes were the same intelligent amber as both girl and fox.

"My goodness, what a creature you are!" Minerva exclaimed. The wolf's tail dropped, and its shoulders slumped. "Oh, my dear, I mean no censure. Did this form also choose you?" The wolf sneezed in agreement, exposing three inch long fangs, its nose still pointing in the general direction of the floor. Minerva placed her hands on the wolf's broad back and took a turn around the beast, noting its deep chest and wide stance. A book summoned from the shelves near the window slapped into her palm. She riffled through the pages.

"Hmmmmm. An extinct species, I think. Ah, _Canis dirus_. Extinct 12000 years." The wolf's ear cocked towards Minerva in interest. "Quite unusual." Minerva waved the book back into the shelf.

"Now, I'll show you something that should ease some of your concern." Minerva stepped into the clear space, her eyes sparking.

"Move aside a bit, my dear." The wolf inhaled, its nostrils filled with the musky smell of big cat. Minerva had been replaced by a long limbed, sloped back cat with light buff fur, dappled black. It matched the wolf pound for pound in size, and its formidable jaw was crowned by incisors that overhung its lower mandible. The edges of these teeth were serrated. The big cat rumbled low in its chest and head butted Hermione in the shoulder. The wolf yipped and swished its tail twice. And as suddenly as the cat had appeared, Minerva was back, in her green under-robe, and an exhilarated look on her face.

"_Homotherium serum_. Scimitar toothed cat. Extinct about 2000 years longer than your wolf, I believe. If you'll change back, we can discuss our shared oddity."

In a long blink, Hermione was back, in fetal position on the floor, shaking from the strain of the unfamiliar transformation.

"Oh, oh dear one." She swooped down on the young witch, her eyes kind, her voice soothing. "Tilley, a bar of chocolate if you please." Hermione felt the older woman's hand threading through her hair as she knelt next to her on the floor.

Tilley popped into the room, a large bar of Honeyduke's best in her small hand. "Miss Hermione, over work on your first day is not setting a good precedent for the term." Tilley scolded as Hermione struggled to sit up. Minerva grasped her elbows and brought Hermione into a sitting position against her chest.

"Now Tilley, leave her be." Minerva took the chocolate from the elf, unwrapped it, broke off a large hunk and pressed it into Hermione's hand. "Eat it all, 'Mione, and then take a nice shower, or have a long soak. Don't fash yourself about this strange magic, all well be well." Minerva's voice was low, her burr strong, and her eyes soft, all facts that didn't escape Tilley's keenly observant eyes.

Hermione huddled on the floor of the shower, trying to swallow her sobs. The relief of having someone else know the weirdness her magic had exhibited, and having that person's support was overwhelming. Her fears temporarily allayed, she allowed some of the tension of the last two years to leave her body.

Minerva's sensitive feline hearing caught the sounds of Hermione's choked off cries. The young woman must have been under such strain since the discovery that her magic had facets that she couldn't have predicted. Knowing Hermione as she did, Minerva was sure that the lack of control had been weighing heavily on her.

Minerva had an inkling as to why Hermione's magic had slipped from her grasp, but as much as she wanted to drop everything to help her young protege and friend, Minerva had to attend to the business of running the school. She had to meet with the Ministry officials, and at the very least, get Filius to finish the plans for the Welcome Feast. Then she could focus on Hermione.

Just before dusk, Minerva bustled back into her suite having spent the whole day arranging the broad strokes of what needed doing before the start of term. The details would be up to Filius. It had become clear to her that morning that for Hermione to be in any sort of shape to handle the start of term, they had some things to take care of.

The young woman in question was nowhere to be seen in the living area, though Minerva could sense her in the quarters. The door to both bedrooms and the bathroom were open, but Hermione was not in the bed that Minerva expected. Curled up into the tightest possible ball it could make, a small auburn fox had burrowed into Minerva's nightgown, half under her pillow.

That Hermione had retreated to animal form while she was gone told Minerva that the girl was emotionally distraught and in dire need of comfort and support, even if she didn't know it. Many years ago, it was Albus that had opened her eyes to the fact that whenever Minerva needed emotional succor without the hangups and awkwardness that would accompany asking for such a luxury in her human form, Minerva would become a small, sinfully soft tabby cat and twine herself around the ankles of her 'victim', a tactic that was nearly impossible to resist. Sirius had used the sad eyes of his hound form in much the same way.

Minerva toed off her boots, banished her outer robes and hair pins, and approached her bed on feet that rivaled her alter ego's for soundlessness. A single magical thought made her weightless enough not to disturb the mattress, and another brought the light cotton duvet folded at the foot of the bed drifting over to cover the both of them. Minerva curled herself around the fox, one hand under her head, and the other on its shoulders, and closed her eyes


	4. Chapter 3

Hermione woke in a warm, dark cocoon that smelled of the sharpness of lavender, muted by good, warm vanilla. It was Minerva's smell, and had drawn her into the other woman's bedroom, enticing to even her weaker human nose. Hermione had sat and stared into the fire for a while after Minerva had left for the Ministry; the book she had pulled off the shelf hadn't held her interest. After a small lunch and a mild fuss provided by Tilley, Hermione had followed her weak human nose to the smell of comfort and understanding, and once in Minerva's bedroom, had given in to the urge to curl up on the bed, intuiting that her animagus form would be less of a faux pas intruding on someone's personal space.

The smell of lavender and vanilla was stronger than when she had first curled up, and she was being held. If foxes could blush, Hermione would have been scarlet. Her head was no longer tucked under her tail, but pressed into Minerva's neck, and the woman's free hand was draped across her furry middle, lax in sleep. Her sensitive fox nose was working overtime trying to tease apart Minerva's scent; Hermione could not fathom how one person could smell like so many things, and so many good things. The heady scent of her magic nearly overpowered the clean, crisp lavender, and there was the scent of sweat, a hint of catnip, a wisp of cinnamon on the breath, all underwritten by subtle vanilla. And Minerva was purring; the soft cadence of her sleeping breath accompanied by an unmistakable thrum.

Hermione was embarrassed at being caught out, but more than that, she wanted to stay in this warm, safe space forever. She wanted to stay with Minerva forever. The thought startled her, and she stiffened, and lost her grip on her transformation.

Minerva's eyes shot open when she suddenly found her arms full of sandalwood scented girl instead of doughnut shaped fox. Hermione backpedaled instantly, trying to scramble off the bed, but Minerva trapped the girl's legs under one of hers and wrapped Hermione in a firm hug.

"Nay, lass. That's no way to be endin' such a fine nap," she husked in a deep burr. Feeling the girl's moist breath against her neck, right where the fox's cold nose had been pressed, Minerva lifted Hermione's chin so their eyes met.

"To be wantin' the comfort of smell, or touch, it is no weakness, Hermione. Not for anyone who has embraced their animal nature, and never between us." Minerva felt the girl's breathing even out and the pounding of her heart ease. And there was a flicker of soul deep joy within her when Hermione's pressed closer into her body and allowed herself to relax.

And then, just as they got comfortable, Minerva's stomach growled. Hermione snorted. It growled again, louder. Minerva could feel the giggles that Hermione was fighting.

"Oh, aye, laugh at the old woman when she was enticed in here for a nap rather than havin' her tea."

Hermione made an effort to steady her voice. "Well, we'd better feed that beast. We wouldn't want it to make a snack of some poor unsuspecting creature."

Minerva disentangled herself from Hermione and stretched. "Such cheek!" She grinned at the younger witch and rolled off the far side of the bed. It took Hermione an unexpected moment to get a grip on herself after that blinding smile. She was nearly positive that weak knees and butterfly stomachs were utterly wrong reactions to the comfort and humor of a friend.

"Come along, Hermione. I'm certain Tilley left us supper. And then a prowl around the castle is necessary, as there is something I must show you."

The sun had set while they had napped, and Minerva was famished. She demolished her bowl of soup, and a thick slab of roast beef layered with greens and cheese between whole grain bread before snatching up another slice of beef to nibble on. She subtly cast an eye upon her friend; Hermione was cupping her soup bowl between her hands contemplating the ghost of her reflection in the darkened window. She caught Minerva's eye upon her and blushed, turning back to her soup, eyes downcast.

Minerva set the beef back on the tray and moved to perch herself on the arm of the chair Hermione occupied. Minerva winced when the girl stiffened.

"Hermione," she began softly, "Hermione, look at me." Hermione flinched, and Minerva moved from the arm of the chair to the coffee table. Knees nearly touching, Minerva removed the soup from Hermione's hands and cast it towards the table, where it landed gently on the tray. The girl started a little, and looked up at her.

Minerva made sure to catch the girl's eye. "Hermione, when you have become an animagus as thoroughly as you have, and as I have, your animal self will exert itself in small ways upon your life at large. Smell and sound become much more important when taking measure of things, or judging character. And you will find yourself much more tactile than you were before you began your training." Minerva could see a blush creeping along Hermione's cheeks.

"Learning to accept these changes and to integrate them into your life is as much part of being an animagus as the physical transformation. Using your animal form as a sort of proxy can make it easier to accept the comfort you crave. Embarrassment is very much muted when you're shape shifted - different emotions take priority in the animal brain."

With a humorous glint in her eye, Minerva continued, "Sirius Black was a shameless attention hound. I used to see him begging in the Three Broomsticks, more for scratches than for scraps. Rosemerta must have chased him out a dozen times before I assured her he did not have fleas and would not be biting anyone."

Hermione smiled. "He did have a bit of the hound about him even as a human, did he not? Loyal, protective, eager to please." The fond memories of Sirius vanished, and a profound grief passed across Hermione's face. "Poor Sirius. Poor Harry."

"I know that Harry lost more than most in the fight against Voldemort, but do not be sad for Sirius, 'Mione. Despite his frustrations, he was so very happy those last two years when he was Harry's godfather. Even when he was at school with James and Remus, Sirius was always a little in the background, but he was the most important person in Harry's life for two years, and it made him a better man. I think when Harry can bring himself to return to Grimmauld Place, it will be good for him; he'll learn quite a bit about his parents, and about his godfather. Along with more evidence of the escapades of Messrs. Moony, Padfoot and Prongs."

Hermione gasped. "Did you know about the map? Did you know the whole time?"

"Of course I knew about the map! I was fairly certain the three of you had gotten your hands on it your fifth year, but who do you think took it from James and Sirius in the first place?" Minerva's green eyes were luminous with good humor and she looked rather pleased with herself. She peered closely at Hermione again, her face returning to seriousness.

"Hermione, you must learn to trust your animal instincts, or you will be ever at conflict with them. Even your wolf instincts. Probably especially your wolf instincts. These are tools that give us a certain advantage, and the parts causing you embarrassment now need not do so, never here." Minerva caressed the girl's chin and gazed into the watery amber eyes, sure that Hermione wasn't telling her everything, but confident it would come in time.

"Now, I feel like a scratch behind the ears while you finish your soup." And abruptly a small silver tabby stepped delicately into Hermione's lap as the soup bowl floated serenely into her hands, warm once again.

By the time Hermione had finished sipping her soup, the Minerva cat was positively languorous. Her eyes were at half-mast, tail flipping lazily, and her purr practically rattling the silver where it sat on the coffee table. When Hermione leaned over to rid herself of the soup bowl, Minerva slithered onto her back, exposing the soft downy fur on her stomach for more attention. Hermione buried her fingers in the fur, and lost herself in thought.

This was a familiar position for her. She had spent more than one evening at Grimmauld Place placating this very tabby's need for attention. As a provisional member of the Order of the Phoenix, she had suspected that her rather buttoned up professor used her animagus self to put others at ease, and she certainly couldn't ask for tummy rubs as a human. As a woman, Minerva was a little intimidating; smart, talented, demanding, beautiful, but also aloof and gaurded. As a cat, well, intimidating certainly wasn't a word that could be applied to a tabby that weight about six pounds, no matter how frightening a person she made. The cat was no less demanding, though. Hermione had woken more than once to well placed kitty head butts demanding the affection she had apparently craved.

When Hermione's fingers stilled, Minerva pushed herself back into a sitting position, bumped her head into the girls sternum as thanks for her delightful attentions, and the launched herself over the back of the chair to land lightly on the floor. With a swish of her tail and a meow tossed over her shoulder she entreated Hermione to get a move on already.

"Bossy," Hermione shot back at her, but then her head disappeared and fox paced out from behind the furniture, and they were off.

Hermione followed Minerva through the school's empty corridors. The quiet before start of term was almost eerie to Hermione; even with her penchant for being out of bed after curfew, during the term the very stones of the castle seemed to respire with life of the students it housed. Minerva trotted close to the walls, peering around corners before committing herself to a new path. Once, Hermione's attention had drifted and she had slammed into the cat, bowling her into the hallway. The cat rounded on her, green eyes snapping, and popped her once in the snout with a dainty paw. Punishment doled out, Minerva twined herself through the fox's delicate ankles, rubbed her head under its chin, and continued on her way.

Their destination was a set of large double doors that Hermione had never encountered before. Ornate locks ran the length of them, much the same as the main double doors to the castle, but much more refined, like those on a Gringott's vault door. Human Minerva ran a finger along one of them and with a series of well oiled clicks, the locks disengaged.

"The magic guarding these doors is much like that guarding the Room of Requirement, although the Head of School can come to this place whenever she desires." On bare feet, she slipped though the crack in the doors, and on soft pads, Hermione followed.


	5. Chapter 4

They were outside in a large courtyard surrounded on three sides by tall, roughly dressed stone walls. Behind them, the castle rose up to a dizzying height before giving way to twilight sky. Hermione followed Minerva into the patch of wild grass surrounding an outcropping of granite that covered about a third of courtyard's surface area. On the surface of the flat granite, loops and whorls chased one another endlessly, smooth and serpentine; Hermione could not see the end of a single line. Granite boulders formed darkened lumps at even distances on a circle. At the center of the circle, where the twisted patterns converged was a rough altar, a large undressed block of marble. It clearly belonged there, as weather-worn and ancient as the rest of the stone, but Hermione knew there was no marble quarried in the British Isles.

A static charge ran through her fur, as palpable as a hand, and left her ruff standing upright in its wake. The magic here hung in the air like moisture on a humid day, and Hermione panted her discomfort.

Minerva grinned at her, her eyes green fairy lights in the moon's subtle glow. "The magic here is quite wild, my dear; neither human nor beast nor anything familiar. It will feel alien and uncomfortable to you for a while, yet."

Hermione changed form - at the very least she could ask questions as a human - and perched next to Minerva on one of the stones that formed the megalith's outer circle.

"What is this place, Minerva? I've never felt anything like it."

"This is the magical heart of Hogwarts - the Fireach Cridhe, the Moor's Heart. I'm sure you've heard about megaliths and ley lines and ancient ritual sites." Hermione nodded. Megalithic ritual sites were often placed on points where ley lines, lines of natural magical energy produced by living things, intersected. This was a particularly powerful example of such a place.

"This ritual site is a bit special. It was the reason that the founders chose this spot for the castle, of course, but since its nascence as a site of worship, its caretakers have been nurturing this wellspring with bits of their power and knowledge. Not just humans either - centaurs and unicorns have also taken advantage of this site's particular qualities and nurtured it as well." Minerva pointed to a dark archway on the wall opposite the castle.

"The leaders of their Dark Forest colonies have access through that gate much as I do."

Minerva pushed herself off the stone and walked a few steps closer to the altar. The hair loosed from her braid began to stand on end, and Hermione could see a shiver pass over her pale skin. Minerva didn't seem discomfited, though. The magic in the courtyard seemed to energize and revitalize the older witch, sinking into her pores and causing her to luminesce with an unearthly internal light. Hermione would never have thought of Minerva McGonagall as untamed in any context, rather the opposite, actually, but at this moment she was fierce and free in a way that Hermione thought beautiful.

"This place has long been one of the most powerful magical places in all of Europe. Guardianship confers powerful benefits on two members of each of the groups pledged to protect it - humans, unicorns, and centaurs. Increased power reserves, extended youth and expedited healing are the bigs ones, but there are some gifts that are more particular to the individual." Hermione was sure she was gaping. Her friend and mentor was lit up like the moon herself, her eyes lidded much like they had been when Hermione had been scratching behind her ears, recharged and centered, and as visibly powerful as Hermione had ever seen a magic user. Hermione just felt itchy.

"After the Battle of Hogwarts, the Heart had changed. It..." She paused and Hermione could see her shudder again. "Seeing is probably better for believing."

A ripple of wind shifted the grass around them, and all of a sudden it seemed like every scrap of light in the courtyard had coalesced into the vague shape of a human standing next to the altar. Its outlines blurred, and then it was a centaur, then briefly a unicorn, before it settled back into its vaguely human shape.

"Soft-pawed feline/jagged toothed hunter/changer of shapes, I greet you," it said in a voice that was almost indistinguishable from the soft summer breeze that rustled the trees outside the courtyard walls. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Hermione, this is the Heart of the Moor." Minerva moved to where the girl was sitting, laid one comforting hand on her shoulder and used the other to shut the young woman's mouth with a 'click'. The older woman was amused at the normally sharp Hermione's less than quicksilver response.

The Heart pulsed, a happy sort of flare that increased its brilliance by an order of magnitude, then dimmed again. "The little fox with the leaping blue mind - Hermione Granger - I'm glad you have returned. Did my gift please you?" Its shape contracted expectantly, waiting for a response. Hermione was dumbfounded. Gift?

"Has she been damaged, Tabby? I felt her return to the castle, and her mind seemed in order, but she does not speak."

Hermione found her voice. "My apologies, just a bit shocked." She shook herself. "A gift, you say? I don't..."

"Your extra form. The wolf. It was not supposed to manifest until you had come back to the Tabby for more of your learning, but it seems you undertook many studies on your own." The Heart dropped its chin and its outline wavered in...embarrassment, perhaps. Hermione's jaw dropped again. Minerva's eyes were dancing mirthfully, her lips pressed together in an effort to contain her laughter.

"I apologize if you were surprised." It seemed to contract into itself even more. "Sentience is new to me and I'm having trouble adjusting to interaction on a more immediate basis. I wish to give gifts that my protectors will appreciate, and that are relevant to their expertise, but I find I am quite clumsy in my attempts." The Heart appeared frustrated. "You would think that thousands of years of existence as a semi-aware magical intelligence would at least afford me some ease interacting with sentient beings, but the Tabby tells me I have the social graces of a room full of third years."

Minerva bit back a laugh and Hermione fought the urge to elbow the older woman in the ribs. "Its just the incongruity of it all, I apologize," the older witch explained to her young, flabbergasted apprentice. Softening, she said: "I know this is an odd situation." Her green eyes flickered to Hermione's face. "But we will work on your feeling detached from the castle and forest. I am sure the people who set up the wards had no inkling that Albus would meddle so with the nature of this place. I wonder all the time what plan he had hatched to integrate your sentient self more fully into the goings on of the castle and its environs." The Heart solidified a bit at Minerva's reassurances; Hermione goggled at the mention of Dumbledore. "And anyway, you have Hermione to talk to you now, as well."

Hermione was aghast. "Minerva, I'm just a transfiguration apprentice. I'm not a guardian of the most powerful magical site in Britain." Her eyes looked wild and Minerva could see her begin to pant.

"Hermione. Hermione, take deep breaths." Minerva took the girl in her arms, hoping the touch would ground her rather than embarrass her.

"Little fox, it wasn't supposed to be this way." The Heart sounded sad, its voice desolate. "When the mirthful phoenix left us, it was the watchful serpent that was to take his place as guardian, but he had been...corrupted, and had too many masters. And then, in the battle that gave me awareness, he died."

The Heart stepped closer to where Hermione stood in Minerva's arms and placed its translucent hand on her forehead. Hermione cringed away, uncertain about accepting the touch of a creature made entirely of magic; Minerva held her tighter.

For Hermione, it was as if time had stopped. She could feel the Heart, feel its awareness stretching almost endlessly in every direction from where it stood, racing through the granite of the castle and along the tendrils of the root systems of the old growth in the Forbidden Forest. She sould feel its joyousness and delight now that it was awake, though she suspected it was hard to be very solemn with a thousand years worth of mischievous witch and wizard children traipsing over one's bones. Its sense of completeness sank into her being, as much a comfort as the solid presence of Minerva behind her. It was glad she was here, and hoped she would stay. Its strength felt like the strength of her own magic, and its wisdom felt like the knowledge of her own mind.

It spoke to her. "Be at ease, witch-child. I know your worries, and all will be resolved, and now that you are home, you will know the peace of the truly contented soon." Its tone became more serious.

"Will you remain here with us to weather the coming storm? Hogwarts will need you in order to remain unbroken, and Minerva will need you to temper her bravery and safeguard her heart." Hermione's head spun; she wished to stay. Truly, she knew she needed to stay, but was what the Heart spoke of even possible? Hermione had never dared to dream such a thing.

"Love has many faces, little fox. What form yours takes is between you and the Tabby. But I am able to pierce the fog of your confusions and uncertainties, somewhat, and your feelings for her run very deep. The Tabby feels much the same, but you need not take my word for it. I give you gifts, Hermione Granger, little fox, to aid you on your path. Your eyes will never be fooled by illusion. When in animal shapes, you and the Tabby will be able to converse as clearly as I speak to you now. And finally, you will always know what is in Minerva's heart."

The glowing hand withdrew from Hermione's head, and all went dark.


	6. Chapter 5

Hermione was dreaming. She loped, as her large, shaggy wolf form, through a dimly lit, unfamiliar forest. Only the path before her was illuminated, but her wolf-eyes could pick out strange, ominous shapes lurking in the shadows. Hermione's only comfort in the strange, oddly soundless darkness was the broad, buff cat keeping pace next to her. It made a small noise in its throat, a soft yowl, and narrowed its green eyes at her; Hermione responded with a throaty whine. They ran on, and on, and on in the seemingly endless woodlands.

Hermione woke to a stray beam of sunlight in her eyes. She yawned. She felt barely rested. And her left side was numb. Lavender and vanilla scented hair tickled her nose. Minerva lay along her left side, one leg thrown over her's, head tucked into Hermione's shoulder. Hermione tensed.

"If ye move, lass, I'll have to stupefy ye," Minerva grumbled into Hermione's neck. Her burr lessened somewhat. "You have only been out four hours, my dear. Go back to sleep."

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath and forced it out slowly. She did as Minerva had told her yesterday - let her instincts and senses measure the situation for her. She was pleasantly warm, still drowsy, and pinned to the bed by the one person in the world who made her feel safe and wanted, and who happened to smell better than any person she had ever met. Of its own accord, her hand wormed out from under Minerva's side and started trailing through the older witch's long, dark hair. Minerva sighed contentedly, pressed closer into Hermione, and started purring. Hermione's arm wrapped tighter around her to keep her there, and they fell asleep again.

When Hermione opened her eyes once more, it was fully light, and she was alone in Minerva's bed. She stretched, feeling much better than she had when she last woke up. She heard the clink of silver on china from the living room, and the smell of breakfast hit her nostrils. Her stomach growled.

When Hermione entered the tower room, Minerva was just standing from the sofa, two plates in her hands. She smiled that blinding, brilliant smile that had been causing Hermione's heart to flutter merrily for the past two days.

"Hermione, I was just coming to wake you." She handed Hermione one of the plates. "Cheese, spinach and mushroom omelet. And there is coffee, tea and juice."

Hermione rounded the sofa and took what she thought of as her 'spot' in the armchair, forking off a piece of the omelet before she even sat down. She was famished. Minerva was already dressed for the day in light-weight summer robes, though her hair was still loose, and her feet were still bare. After learning what she had of the woman behind the stern Headmistress, Hermione thought the look rather suited the private Minerva she was getting to know.

"Mmmmmf," Hermione moaned around a bite of egg. "This is so good. An unusual combination." She finished chewing and downed half a glass of cranberry juice sweetened with something. Grape maybe.

"What happened last night, Minerva? Last I remember the Heart was talking to me, and then it's all a blank." She blushed. Not totally a blank. She remembered waking up with Minerva, again, quite well. And that odd dream, she remembered that, too.

Minerva's eyes on her were the deepest green she had ever seen them, like the forest shade on a summer day. "You are taking this magical looniness so well, little fox. I think I ranted at Albus for a week before I calmed down enough to ask questions rationally, and that was without a talking magical sentience inserting itself into the mix."

"I'm afraid that a legendary temper is just one of the qualities I don't possess in abundance, Minerva. Much to your benefit, I might add."

"Such a cheeky witch." Minerva smiled fondly at Hermione, and once again Hermione's heart leapt. "But to answer your question, that was the Heart attuning you its magic, bestowing its gifts, and all that other ancient powerful magic stuff I am sure it detailed to you before it did so." The irreverence with which Minerva referred to the Heart confused Hermione a little. Last night, she had thought the older woman was going to outright laugh at it. "You will be a little weak magically for a day or so as it used a good portion of your personal energies to work its hoodoo."

"Minerva, why do you... I mean, you seem a little..." Hermione didn't know how to phrase the question she wanted to ask regarding Minerva's attitude.

"Why do I treat the Heart as if it were a particularly ridiculous third year?" Hermione nodded, curious.

Minerva smiled at Hermione. This was a question she had no problem answering, and wanted the girl to know that. "Hermione, the Heart does not want our reverence or awe. It wants us, in general, to help it protect the castle and forest. And in particular, it wants our help understanding sentient beings. Human sentient beings, to be precise. Now that you're attuned to it, it will ask you questions about human interactions, motivations, speech patterns and magic." Minerva settled on the end of the couch closest to Hermione's chair.

"It will not occupy all your time - its attention is rather sporadic. But it will be an inconvenience, not least because it asks embarrassing questions, inquires about your personal motives, and has absolutely no sense of the human sleep schedule." She rubbed a little at her temple, as if chasing away past annoyances. "It has gotten better, but truth be told, I am very glad you are here, Hermione, and probably the very least of the reasons I am glad is because I can think of no one better, no one kinder or more suited to teaching the Heart about human nature, something I think it truly needs to know."

Hermione flushed deeply at the praise, feeling unworthy in comparison to Minerva's brilliance, bravery, loyalty and kindness.

"I'll do my best, Minerva." Her eyes lower as she contemplates her words. "I know this is a lot to process, but I'm doing ok with it, I think because I lost something when Harry and Ron and I left to look for horcruxes, Minerva, and now that I've returned, I've found it again, and I finally feel right." Hermione is unsure if she means returning to Hogwarts, or returning to Minerva, though right at that moment, caught up in the older woman's arms in a firm hug, she had never felt more complete.

Hermione spent her morning in consultation with the Transfiguration professor that took over Minerva's post when Minerva became Headmistress. Poached from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes by promises of better pay and more regular hours, Kat MacInnes struck Hermione as fair, patient and kind. (Her competence was unassailable. Minerva had chosen her, after all.) Nearly twenty years on-call for reversals of magical 'oopses' made even unpredictable and unruly students seem like a vacation for Professor MacInnes. Hermione demonstrated proficiency in the lessons on the timetable for the first month of the term, and then helped the Professor begin gathering the materials they would need for the students. After a productive morning, they both agreed they were excited to work with one another, and parted for lunch.

When Hermione returned to the rooms, Minerva was still absent. Apparently, putting the fear of McGonagall into the farmer who provided the school's produce was taking longer than expected. Hermione had a hard time imagining anyone resisting the Headmistress for long, never mind the immaculately robed, fierce looking witch that had left the tower a few hours ago.

It had intrigued Hermione to watch the kind, tactile, emotionally available Minerva that had held and comforted her the past few days turn back into the stern Professor and disciplinarian that Hermione remembered from her school days. From the pointed hat pinned to the glistening ebony chignon, to the high necked black silk robes slashed to show hints of deep green under robe, to the nearly knee high lace up black dragon skin boots that added three inches to Minerva's not inconsiderable height - Hermione could see she wore it all like armor, and she was struck by how profoundly grateful she was that Minerva trusted her enough to see beneath it.

Stretched out on the couch beneath a light-weight tartan throw, Hermione reflected on the fact that even before any of the business with the Heart, and even before Hermione had revealed her new proficiency as an animagus, Minerva had let her in: into her school, into her rooms, and apparently, into her trust.

Eyes skimming over the pages of a book on predators of the last ice age, Hermione could not help but think she should be a little more shaken by the events of yesterday, but she meant what she told Minerva. Even with the Heart's warning of a coming storm, she wants nothing more than to weather the storm here, with Minerva, even if she didn't yet understand this desire, she had begun to trust her instincts.

Lunch appeared on the coffee table under a stasis spell; two massive salads in bowls the size of soup tureens, each topped by a grilled breast of chicken. A loaf of fresh bread, a small carafe of dressing and a pitcher of cold tea infused with fruit were included on the tray. Hermione's stomach rumbled, but she forced her eyes back to the chapter on the scimitar toothed cat, determined to wait for Minerva's return. The cat and wolf astounded her; now that she was aware of its origins, her wolf form was much less frightening, though she imagined it will take practice for the transformation to become as painless as Minerva's appeared to be. Another look at Minerva's powerfully shouldered cat form would also be of interest.

Minerva entered the tower already unpinning her hat. It was hard to wear the face of Headmistress around the girl, and she had promised herself she would leave her strict persona out of her personal chambers as much as she could. While she had been preparing to leave that morning, she had found Hermione watching her curiously as she got dressed. No doubt the sharp witch was trying to reconcile Minerva's behavior over the past few days with the woman she knew as a student.

It was easy for her to leave behind the trappings of power and authority with Hermione, and as the girl had matured and grown into her magic, it had been nearly impossible for Minerva to resist drawing the girl into her life and insulate her from the troubles wracking their world. But she had resisted. Her weakness had been those two summers at Grimmauld Place, padding into Hermione's room and accepting whatever affection the girl would offer her animagus form, listening to the young woman's hopes and dreams. It had been a revelation for Minerva, though Hermione had never asked her about it, and Minerva never volunteered any information, and as far as she could figure not a soul knew about the indulgence she had allowed herself. It was Hermione's unquestioning acceptance of Minerva's need for affection that had set in motion the events that led to Minerva entering her chambers to a hearty lunch and a dear friend who was tugging more firmly on her heartstrings each passing day. Minerva could not find it in herself to worry, and anticipated her meal with a light heart.

Lunch had been extremely pleasant. Hermione had inquired about Minerva's morning. What did putting the fear of McGonagall into a farmer entail, exactly? Minerva's observations about the self-important wizarding farmer had set the young woman to giggling. They discussed what Hermione's fourth level transfiguration mastery would require, and how Neville and Pomona were getting along in the greenhouses, and wouldn't it be funny to set Pomona loose on that ridiculous farmer? A more pleasant meal neither could recollect.

Salads finished, Hermione was wiping the last bit of dressing from her bowl with a crust of bread. She popped it into her mouth, chewed and sighed in satisfaction.

"Now I'm stuffed. And feel quite like a nap." She stretched and listed toward the couch cushions, looking as though she might nod off right then.

"Feel free, my dear. Your recent expenditure of energy might affect you thus for a day or two more." With a wave of her hand, Minerva banished the dishes to the kitchen, and with another wave, transfigured one of her small throw pillows into a larger squashy one.

"What are you going to..." Hermione yawned so large that Minerva heard her jaw crack. "...do," she finished.

"Oh this and that. There is an oven and set of burners in the kitchen that could use my attention. And there is always more correspondence to deal with."

"Ok. Don't let me sleep too long; there is too much to do." She yawned again.

Minerva chuckled and rose, turning to tuck a strand of hair behind the girl's ear. "Just get some rest Hermione. You will have every opportunity to work yourself into insensibility in a fortnight." She pointed at the pillow. "Now, put your head there." Instead of obeying, Hermione changed, the fox curling itself on top of the pillow Minerva had transfigured. Minerva draped the tartan throw over the sleeping animal, and left for the kitchens, sparing one last glance for the sleeping witch on the couch.


	7. Chapter 6

Minerva heaved a great sigh as she threw herself into the chair behind her desk. Although she spent at least an hour daily responding to letters, there was always more waiting for her. As hard as she tried to streamline and delegate, there was quite a bit of post that required her attention as opposed to her deputy's or one of the other professors. Now that she had refreshed the heating charm on the counter-top burners, and made sure one of the great ovens was heating evenly, she could no longer avoid the pile of mail in the tray on her desk, although every fibre of her being wanted to return to her chambers and nap with Hermione. She summoned the pot of tea she had asked Tilley to prepare when she left the kitchens, accio'd her letter opener, and reached for the letter on the top of the pile.

An hour later, she heard the grinding of the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to her office. Filius Flitwick entered, a bemused look on his face, awkwardly trying to keep the furry orange thing in his small arms from tumbling on to the floor.

"Minerva, I found a fox sleeping in front of your gargoyle. I poked it with my wand but it didn't run off or bite me, it just yawned in my face and went back to sleep." He proffered the limp creature to Minerva. "Why do we have forest animals traipsing about the castle? Are we going to have to have another talk with Hagrid?"

Minerva stepped around her desk and stooped to take Hermione from the charms master, cradling the fox to her chest. The fox pressed its nose into the crook of her neck and sighed in its sleep. Minerva could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks and ignored it, carrying on as if this were a completely normal occurrence.

"I apologize Filius. Hermione was napping in my quarters and must have come looking for me when she woke up. She was probably too tired to change back safely, and does not yet know the password for my office."

It took a moment for Filius to realize he was gaping. He closed his jaw, feeling self conscious. He didn't know what amazed him more - that his brilliant former student had achieved three levels of mastery in two years, or that his stoic, notoriously closed off headmistress was blushing and cradling said student as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

Filius had known Minerva long enough to realize that discretion was often the better part of valor when dealing with the bluster that arose when he or any of her friends attempted to discuss her personal life. "Her skill does you credit, Minerva." She raised an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to say more. He shifted nervously. Definitely discretion. "Such a talented witch. I'm glad you brought her back to us, Minerva."

The eyebrow descended. "Was there something that needed my attention, Filius? Other than rampaging woodland creatures infiltrating the castle and napping dangerously in doorways?"

"No, Minerva. Expect my report on the condition of the Hogwarts Express and the boats for the first years before lunch tomorrow. I don't expect any issues, but I'll let you know if there are." He turned to leave, and nearly fell over in shock when out of the corner of his eye he caught Minerva pressing her lips to the top of the sleeping fox's head.

Minerva had transfigured her chair into a chaise lounge to give Hermione a place to nap while she continued reading letters. Most she sent to the fire with a wave of her hand, but there were a few that would require a response. Those she set next to her on the floor. Hermione had stretched out on her side, pressed against Minerva's leg while she read. Occasionally the fox's paws would twitch or she would yip in her sleep. It didn't take more than a touch for the fox's dreams to subside and her breathing to even out once more. Minerva wondered what Hermione was dreaming about.

Before she reached the end of the pile, Minerva felt her eyes drooping. The allure of a nap was much harder to resist with a warm creature sleeping against her body. She yawned and tossed the letter she had been reading to the floor, turning onto her side to curl around the fox.

She had just dozed off when the gargoyle ground again and Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout entered the office, arguing animatedly but good naturedly. Minerva exhaled violently through her nose. The fox whimpered and rolled over to press its nose into the older witch's robes, folding its legs awkwardly.

"Minerva?" Poppy said.

"Filius said she was working in here, Poppy. And the gargoyle let us in." Minerva supposed the desk hid the low chaise lounge better than she had thought.

"Is there something I can do for you, ladies?" Minerva kept her voice low, hoping Hermione would keep napping.

Pomona and Poppy peered over the desk. "Whatever are you doing down there, Minerva? And since when have you kept a pet fox?" Pomona asked, curious as to why the other woman was reclining in her office, even if she appeared to have been working. Minerva reclining seemed antithetical to the natural order of things, somehow. Sometimes Pomona wondered if the Headmistress slept sitting bolt upright, posture perfect, shoulders square.

"I was doing what I always do in my office, Pomona, working." She put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, hoping to soothe the dreaming creature. "And she's not a pet."

"Oh! That's Miss Granger!" The medi-witch exclaimed. Pomona looked at Poppy incredulously. "I would recognize that aura anywhere, Pomona. I treated her more than enough times."

Minerva sighed. The whole staff would know about Hermione's success as an animagus within the hour, not to mention the fact that the Headmistress was disporting herself on a lounge with a former student.

"Ladies, I would appreciate some discretion, if you please. We've not yet made it to the Ministry to register Hermione, and I would rather not have every petty bureaucrat in England traipsing through the school trying to cause trouble for my apprentice." She sat up fully and picked Hermione up. The fox's cold nose found her pulse point again. "She's had a rather stressful time of it lately, and Ministry and media attention is the very last thing she needs." Pomona narrowed her eyes at Minerva appraisingly, but Poppy stepped in for a closer look at the animagus. Minerva suppressed the urge to growl.

"She does appear a bit thin, Minerva," the mediwitch said quietly. "She is very nearly drained magically, and her aura is..." She gasped. "Minerva, is she..." Poppy trailed off, remembering Pomona's penchant for gossip.

Pomona looked from Minerva back to Poppy, who seemed to urgently want to speak to the Headmistress.

"I'll just talk to you tomorrow, Minerva. Have a pleasant evening." With one backwards glance, Pomona trundled off to find Filius.

Poppy sat down next to Minerva on the chaise and said - trying to keep her voice neutral - "Now, please tell me what's going on."


	8. Chapter 7

Hermione woke feeling loved. It was a curious feeling. One that did not originate within her breast, but was nonetheless comfortably lodged there, relaxed, contented, and...purring? Oh. Minerva. She remembered what the Heart had told her, about feeling Minerva's heart, and she began to feel jealous. What if someone else was making Minerva feel this way? What if she had to watch and feel from the outside as Minerva made a life with someone else; loved someone else? She growled and began to struggle against the cocoon she was in.

"Hush, little fox. Easy now," Minerva crooned. Hermione was cradled against the older woman's chest, her head resting on a shoulder, nose pressed into her neck. Hermione stilled, and sighed happily. The feeling of love that was not Hermione's redoubled, at once calming and exhilarating. She snuggled in tighter and Minerva dropped a kiss between her pointed ears. Hermione let her present contentment wash away the jealousy and panic she had felt.

Minerva could feel Poppy Pomfrey gaping at her just as surely as she would feel a punch in the arm. She would not allow anyone's expectations to dictate how she interacted with Hermione. She raised her chin defiantly.

"Stop looking at me like that, Poppy."

Poppy laid a placating hand on Minerva's shoulder. "Forgive an old woman her surprise, Minerva." She peered into Minerva's green eyes, her brow furrowed. "Sometimes," she began cautiously, "sometimes I forget that there are depths to you that not a soul has seen." Her voice held no censure, no judgment, just respect, and a little regret.

"Hermione." Breath tickled the fox's nose. It smelled like tea and ginger. "Hermione. Little fox, wake up." Hermione opened her eyes. Minerva's voice was very close to her ear. And Madame Pomfrey was peering over Minerva's shoulder at her. Hermione tucked her head against Minerva's chest, hiding her eyes in embarrassment.

"Hermione do you still feel unable to change back?" Hermione sneezed. Yes. "You should not be this drained, dear one. Were you doing magic when you met with Professor MacInnes?" Minerva wasn't angry or upset, just a little worried. Hermione could feel it just as sure as she could feel Minerva's heart beating beneath her head. Hermione sneezed again. You have to ask?

Minerva sighed. "I told you to take it easy, little fox." Poppy snorted. If she had a sickle for every time she had said those very words to Minerva, she would be a rich woman.

"I think I can brew something that will help restore some energy if I can get a better look at her magical aura, Minerva, but you know how hard that is when someone is in their animagus form."

"Very well, Poppy. My quarters, rather than the hospital wing, I think." She rose, and balanced Hermione with one arm on a hip. With a wave of the other hand, she returned the letters she had been reading to her desk, and slid the chaise lounge back into its rightful shape and place. Both arms holding the fox again, she headed towards the door. She realized her feet were bare and turned back.

"Be a dear, Poppy, and grab my boots, would you?" Poppy shook her head, shrugged away her disbelief, and turned to scoop the leather boots from off the floor next to the desk; she then followed the headmistress out the door.

In her quarters, Minerva carried Hermione into the master bedroom, turned and said, "Give us a moment, please," and firmly shut the door in Poppy's face. Poppy sighed and resisted the urge to bang her head against the solid wooden surface; this situation with Hermione might be causing some changes in the headmistress, but that didn't mean that Minerva McGonagall would let down her walls more than necessary around anyone else.

Minerva set Hermione on the bed and spoke seriously to her. "Hermione, its going to hurt, and its going to feel harder than the first time you ever transformed, but I need you to change back." Hermione whined anxiously and shifted her weight from paw to paw.

"I know, my dear. But I need to make sure you have not destabilized your magic." Minerva removed her outer robe and lay down on her side. "Now come here. Leave your clothes banished, I will cover you with this."

The fox stepped into the witch's arms and felt the silk robe settle over her gently. "Now, take a deep breath, and when you exhale, change back. Do not try to fight it, or control it, it will only be harder if you do."

Hermione took a deep breath of the lavender and vanilla scented air under the robe and paused to feel the love, Minerva's love, that beat in her chest like another heart. Then she exhaled, and yowled, and then screamed, as the pain of a nearly magic-less and strained transformation overcame her body, like the pain of a thousand thousand butter knives scraping the skin from her flesh.

Poppy burst through the door to find Minerva on the bed, curled around Hermione, who was naked and sobbing under Minerva's outer robe. Minerva transfigured the robe into a soft, cotton nightshirt, and pulled the light duvet from the foot of the bed around the both of them.

"Do what you need to do, Poppy," Minerva husked from the bed. Poppy cast a diagnostic spell, and while she waited for the results, murmured a number of small charms that block some of the pain response from reaching Hermione's cerebral cortex. Poppy relaxed a little when the girl stopped trembling and noticed that Minerva relaxed as well. She glanced away when Hermione pulled herself tighter to the Headmistress and pressed her face into the older woman's chest. Minerva merely made soothing nonsense noises and rubbed her back gently.

The results of Hermione's diagnostic test startled Poppy. The magical depletion could only be cured by rest and a bunch of good meals, which happened to be the same things she would prescribe for the young woman's low body weight and iron levels. The results that made her angry enough to growl, angry enough to do serious harm to whomever had caused them, were the small, improperly healed fractures on Hermione's vertebrae and scapulae. The only thing that made fractures like that was repeated application of the _Cruciatus_ curse.

"Minerva, someone tortured this girl," she hissed urgently. Poppy saw Minerva's face harden, and a terrible light appear in her eyes. Poppy suppressed a shudder. She knew that look - it spelled terrible things for whomever had aroused the Headmistress's temper.

And then, Hermione sighed, asleep again, and pressed her lips to the hollow of Minerva's throat. The awful, vengeful look disappeared, and Minerva blushed, bemused and affectionate.

"Was it the _Cruciatus_?" She asked, so softly Poppy had to strain to hear her.

"Yes. Repeatedly. She's also under nourished and a little anemic, but that's more recent."

"It must have been Belletrix, when she was captured at Malfoy Manor. Can you help her?" The worry in Minerva's eyes was nearly as terrible as the rage.

"Of course, Minerva. A bone growth and strengthening potion once a day for a month or so will strengthen the fractures. They will never be one hundred percent again, but barring serious trauma, they shouldn't bother her. And the rest, well, stuff her as many time a day as you can manage. I'm sure Tilley has been tempting her palette since she stepped onto the grounds. Make sure she gets plenty of leafy greens and protein. And at least eight hours of sleep a night, for as long as you can make her." Minerva nodded, and Poppy knew she'd do what she could for the girl, even if she'd never do the same for herself. The mediwitch checked her watch.

"I'll let Tilley know to bring her first dose of bone potions, along with a mild restorative potion with dinner. Until her magic is back to full strength, you can administer them in a mug of hot chocolate, to help with magic shock. After, tea will work nicely."

Poppy had to stifle a laugh at the look of outrage on Minerva's face. "You have never given me any other option than quaffing potions straight from the bottle," she accused darkly.

"Minerva, dear, if I have to chase you around the castle, or ask you half a dozen times to take a potion that is for your own health and benefit, having it taste bad is your own damn fault." Poppy smirked at the Headmistress, about to burst into laughter that she had, for once, left Minerva McGonagall sputtering and speechless.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: As my semester has begun, expect updates less frequently. Perhaps every two weeks, but I make no promises because I have a heck of a lot of reading and writing to do. Rest assured I haven't abandoned this story, but expect only sporadic updates.**

About an hour later, Minerva felt the wards around her quarters twist, and heard a faint pop and knew Tilley had just delivered supper to her coffee table.

"'Mione. Wake up, little fox, its time for supper." She gently shook the sleeping witch's shoulder.

Hermione's eyes popped open. She groaned. "Bloody hell, Min. I feel like a bus hit me, then backed up over me, then hit me again." She considered the position she was in. She could hear the older witch's heart beneath her head, could see it pulsing in the veins of her neck, and could feel her love beating with the same rhythm in her own chest. "This is nice, though."

Minerva chuckled a little. It sounded strange to Hermione, echoing through the older woman's chest. "It is nice, but I have strict orders to make sure you are well fed. And there is medicine for you."

Holding her body as still as possible, Minerva tried not to tense before she asked the next question. "'Mione, darling, why didn't you tell anyone that Belletrix had tortured you?" Hermione choked out a sob, and Minerva tried to control herself as a wave of rage ripped through her body. She found killing abhorrent, and had tried not to over the course of her participation in three wars, but at this moment, she would gladly exhume Belletrix Lestrange, reanimate her, then kill her again, and repeat the process a few times over for good measure.

Hermione felt Minerva's anger through her bond and tried desperately to pull away, but her weak body and Minerva's strong arms stymied her.

"Hermione! What is it? What did I say?" Minerva sounded close to tears and Hermione could hear her swallowing convulsively.

"You're...you're mad at me," Hermione bit out through her tears.

"Oh, honey no. The furthest thing from." She pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead, hoping to reassure her. "It's just that right now I could happily kill Belletrix Lestrange with my bare hands." She took a deep shuddering breath. "Seeing you in pain shatters me, 'Mione. I could do nothing about it during the war, but from now on, every pain you feel will be my pain, too."

Minerva was crying outright now, and it was Hermione's turn to pet and soothe, and she did, until the ache in her chest smoothed over.

"Don't hate Belletrix, Min. I could never bring myself to hate or even fear her after that. She was insane. And doomed. And I only only remember her with pity."

"When did you get so wise?" Minerva's voice sounded rough.

"I had a good teacher. And too much time to think."

"You have to mean Albus, 'Mione, because patience and understanding have never been my strong suites." Minerva groused. Hermione could only chuckle.

Hermione was glad, as they lay there basking in the calm after the emotional storm, that the sadness that was Minerva's in Hermione's chest brightened once more to love.

Once she felt she had regained her emotional equilibrium, Minerva disentangled herself from Hermione and got out of the bed.

"Do you think you can get up, or shall I bring supper to you?"

Hermione considered, shifting and taking stock of how strong her limbs felt.

"You would have to carry me out to the sofa, Min. My joints feel pretty unsteady." Hermione grimaced, and Minerva could sympathize. She was intensely familiar with the dread that accompanied not being able to do for yourself. She knew Hermione's independent self would chafe if she was bed bound for more than a day.

"Supper in bed. Such decadence, Miss Granger." Minerva playfully admonished. Hermione merely arched an eyebrow at her and began propping herself up with the remainder of the pillows on the bed.

When Minerva returned with the tray, she found Hermione reclining against the pillows, legs covered by the duvet. The nightshirt Minerva had transfigured her was soft cotton broadcloth that felt as though it had been worn and washed a thousand times, and it made it very evident that Hermione was very grown up, and quite well endowed. The picture she made, comfortable in Minerva's bed, eyes soft with heavy lids, smiling in shy contentment, dark chestnut hair spread across the pillows nearly made Minerva gasp with want. Physical want, yes, but Minerva felt the desire to do just this as often as she could: to feed this woman meals and relax in bed - in their bed - in domestic bliss.

She tamped down her physical desire quickly. Years of experience had granted her nearly iron control over this, and it was much too soon to share this with Hermione. Minerva needed Hermione to feel safe here, to feel loved, and to trust her implicitly. The rest would come, or it wouldn't, and Minerva would deal with it either way.

She spoke, and hoped that the roughness of her voice would be attributed to the crying she had done earlier.

"It seems that Tilley is taking Poppy's instructions very seriously. Filet mignon, sautéed greens and summer vegetables, and mashed potatoes with what I would guess is whole milk and real butter." She flipped the legs out from under the tray and set it over Hermione's legs before climbing on to the bed to sit with her knees under her, next to the tray and facing Hermione.

The younger witch had leaned forward while Minerva was settling herself to sniff delicately at the steam rising from the plates. "It smells fantastic. I didn't think I was hungry, but I guess I am." Minerva's sensitive hearing caught a gurgle from her stomach. Hermione blushed. Minerva smiled serenely and poured Hermione a mug of hot chocolate from the small silver pot that had arrived with the food.

"I warn you that Tilley's mashed potatoes are ridiculously good, but make sure you save enough room to finish your chocolate. Poppy will want you to drink the whole pot." Minerva watched as Hermione took her first bite of the mashed potatoes. Her groan was a blatantly sexual noise of appreciation.

"Oh my god, Minerva. I haven't had real mashed potatoes for ages." She took another bite and savored the taste, her eyes fluttering closed softly. Minerva gulped at her goblet of chilled water. "These are wicked. You could use them as a bribe." She smiled at a memory. "Can you believe the boys actually preferred the boxed ones? And they would complain when I used milk instead of water to reconstitute them. Blech." She pulled a face.

As they ate, Hermione told Minerva stories from the nine months she had spent on the run with Harry and Ron. Minerva had heard the parts that pertained to the destruction of Voldemort's horcruxes, but those were not the memories Hermione was recounting. She told Minerva about the time Harry had set sausages and nearly raw pancake batter on fire before he figured out how to heat a pan evenly with his wand. And the time Ron had been in charge of a vegetable portion for a meal and had made a salad of raw cabbage and tomatoes. Funny stories about young adults who could take care of themselves in many ways, but had no idea about cooking. Or laundry

"To this day I have no idea how laundry is done with magic, Minerva." She said, laughing.

"It is a great deal less onerous than those laundromats sound. Folding someone else's underwear sounds like something I could happily avoid for the rest of my days, Hermione." She grimaced at that thought, and Hermione laughed again.

"I had to learn how to keep myself clothed and presentable when I was fighting Grindlewald, but when I am here or at home, Tilley insists on doing my laundry for me. Apparently washing silk with wool is right out, and she tells me my folding spells are downright sloppy." Hermione's giggles at this grousing were nearly maniacal.

"I'm going to have to side with Tilley on this, Minerva. You can't get silk wet, it discolors permanently." Minerva tried to look stern at Hermione siding with Tilley in their long standing dispute about laundry, but failed; she felt much too light hearted.

When the food was gone, and Hermione's chocolate pot was drained to the dregs, Minerva banished it all back to the kitchens. Hermione's eyelids were drooping again, and she looked up at Minerva through her lashes.

"Can I sleep in here again tonight, with you?" She asked shyly.

"Of course you can, my dear." Minerva reached out and smoothed a glossy wave behind a delicate ear. "It is a bit early for me to turn in though. Will you be alright if I finish up with some letters out in the other room." Hermione nodded, still shy.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course." She pulled back the covers and Hermione lifted herself out of the way, then tucked her legs under the blankets and shimmied down as Minerva redistributed the pillows.

With Hermione curled up on her side, face pressed into Minerva's chest once again, the older witch was struck again with how right it felt to have this woman in her arms.

It took no time at all for Hermione's breathing to deepen and slow. Minerva waited a few more minutes and slid ever so carefully from the bed. She pulled the door half shut behind her as she entered the living room. It took only a thought to have the letters she had been working on that afternoon appear on the coffee table, along with her quill, ink pot and the soft cloth bag containing the Hogwarts seal and a stick of magical wax. Tilley appeared barely a blink later with Minerva's tea service and a significant look at Hermione curled up in Minerva's bed.

"Guess I won't have to give you guff about working late if she's in there waiting on you, Minerva." Tilley's amusement was barely contained. Minerva scowled, but said nothing. Tilley disappeared, a small smirk gracing her wizened face.

Even hurrying, it took Minerva over two hours to finish the letters she had to write. It made her scowl to think that as soon as she set foot in her office the next day there would be a new batch of correspondence to deal with. She put the finishing touches on a letter to a very nice muggle couple whose oldest daughter would begin her first year at Hogwarts next week. They needed some minor reassurances, and Minerva was happy to provide them.

Her last task was a short letter to the witch in charge of registry services at the Ministry. She made apologies for Hermione, (magical depletion, unrelated to animagus training, wanted no trouble), noted her form and features (_Vulpes vulpes_, twenty five pounds, amber eyes, summer coat: red brown, seal points excepting tail, white point, winter coat: unknown, will update), relayed the date (17th August 2000), and signed Hermione's name and particulars (Hermione Jean Granger, 3rd level Master: Transfiguration, Order of Merlin, First Class, Crossed Wands Medal for Valor in Combat), and her name and particulars (Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, International Confederation of Wizards - Minor Mugwump, 6th level Master: Transfiguration, Order of Merlin, multiple awards, Combat Medals, multiple awards).

She folded the letter, dripped a bit of magical wax on the edge, and with a snap summoned her personal seal. When she pressed the seal to the wax, a sigh of magic whispered across the paper, changing the color of the wax to a deep emerald green and inking a small scrap of Minerva's clan tartan around the edges of the wax. The magic of the seals and wax was such a sweet piece of wizardry. Even Minerva's dislike of dealing with correspondence didn't diminish the relish she had for the little bit of magic. And thus, Minerva McGonagall returned to her bedroom with a smile.


	10. Chapter 9

Hermione clung to Minerva all night like a long, leggy limpet. Minerva had never slept better. She awoke early, and not wanting to wake Hermione, adjourned to the living room, planning to finish a peer review for _Transfiguration Quarterly_, her discipline's scholarly journal. Feeling so refreshed and in the quiet of the morning, it was easy to collect her thoughts and provide some meaningful feedback for the young American witch whose theory she was critiquing. She had just finished when Hermione shuffled out of the bedroom, blinking blearily at her.

"Glad to see you ambulatory, Hermione." Minerva greeted cheerfully. She sealed the letter and banished it to the owlery as Hermione slumped onto the sofa. She groaned.

"You are altogether too cheerful for this early hour, Minerva McGonagall. I bet you've already accomplished a thousand and one impossible things, and you haven't even had breakfast." Hermione mock glared at her around her hair.

"Only a thousand things, Hermione. The rest will have to wait until we break our fast."

"Mmmm, what's for breakfast? It's been a while since dinner."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Minerva summoned her tray, knowing Tilley would have started cooking as soon as she was aware Minerva was awake and moving around. The tray appeared on the table, the small silver chocolate pot next to it. Minerva's tea service appeared a moment later. Minerva poured tea for herself and chocolate for Hermione while the girl heaped eggs, summer sausage and hot griddle cakes on a plate.

They both tucked in, eating too single mindedly for much conversation. Hermione sighed when she had cleared her plate, and leaned back to finish her hot chocolate.

"I hope I don't get sick of chocolate before I get my reserves back. That would be a shame." She sounded mournful, but the look on her face as she sipped the drink spoke more of bliss than of indifference.

"Hermione, if you get sick of what is essentially Honeyduke's best melted and thinned with a bit of milk, I will eat my best hat, and Tilley her favorite tea towel." Minerva said firmly.

"I'll hold you to that, Minerva." She sipped at the chocolate again and eyed Minerva speculatively. "That would be quite a thing to see. Your best hat is rather large. And pointy." They both chuckled at the mental image.

"What's on the schedule for today?" Hermione asked. They were curled up on the couch reading the Daily Prophet. Hermione had laid her head on Minerva's shoulder with no hesitation, preferring to read along rather than take her own section of the paper.

"Your schedule is to take it easy, my dear." Hermione made a face. "A splash in the prefect's bathroom or my tub? A morning in the library? A chat with the portraits about your new status?"

"Hmmmmm." Hermione was contemplating her options. "A soak would be nice. And one can never know too much about one's newly acquired ancient magical powers." Minerva was quite enamored of Hermione's dry sense of humor. And that they could comfortably poke fun at one another.

"Be sure to leave some mysteries for another day, little fox." Minerva teased.

Hermione pulled a face at her. "I'm sure you were the very picture of patience and quietude when Professor Dumbledore told you that you were practically a demigod."

"The very model of. No, more than that; I was the very essence of magnanimity and benevolent patience, I assure you."

Hermione giggled and gently prodded Minerva softly in the torso beneath her ribcage with elbow. "Silly witch," she whispered fondly.

She snaked her arm around Minerva's and grasped the older witch's wrist, snuggling just a bit closer, though they were already so close you couldn't have threaded even a single sheet of newsprint between them.

"What are you doing today, Min?" Minerva grunted at a news item about the Scottish National Quidditch team, mostly to cover the croak that nearly slipped out when Hermione began fondly trailing her fingertips up and down Minerva's forearm.

"Well, as Filius is inspecting the train and the boats for the First Years, it falls upon me to cast my notoriously picky eye on the thestrals and carriages and by then I am sure there will be at least two dozen letters waiting on my desk." She banished the paper and stilled Hermione's hand. "After lunch, we can reevaluate your energy level, but I hope you will abstain from any magic today, Hermione." She squeezed the young witch's hand. "You could do real damage to yourself."

"I'll take it easy today, I promise." She squeezed Minerva's hand back. They sat there for a few moments more, holding hands and enjoying the quiet, until Minerva had to excuse herself to prepare for the day.

While Minerva was in the shower, Hermione put on her robe and slippers and slipped a clean change of clothes and a pair of flats into an old canvas bag. She left a ordinary, nonmagical, handwritten note for Minerva on the coffee table:

Min,

Headed to the Prefect's bathroom for a soak.

Be safe; no thestral bites. I'll see you at noon in

our quarters for lunch.

'Mione

Minerva left the bathroom to find the suite empty. The note on the table made her smile a little in wonderment. She folded it carefully and tucked it in the pocket of her robes.


	11. Chapter 10

An hour and a half later Hermione emerged from the Prefect's bathroom relaxed, clean, and neatly dressed in a pair of jeans and short sleeved camp shirt. Though she had used an inordinate number of towels, her hair was still damp, and in the cool interior of the castle, it made her feel clammy. An idea struck her.

She called out tentatively: "Tilley?"

The little elf appeared almost immediately. "Miss Hermione, I'm glad to see you up and about. You're feeling better, yes?"

"Yes, thank you. Largely in thanks to your fabulous cooking, I think."

"I do what I can, dear. Now what can I do for you this morning?"

"I'm embarrassed to ask this, but would you dry my hair for me?" She gestured vaguely at the castle walls. "I'd forgotten about the damp."

"Of course." The elf snapped her fingers and Hermione felt the moisture leave her hair and the damp patches on her shirt dry up.

"Thanks, Tilley."

"It's no trouble. Now, be sure and take it easy, and don't hesitate to call if you need a snack."

With a final, reassuring smile for Hermione, the elf was gone.

Hermione was nearly at the Headmistress's office off the main stairway when a glowing cat patronus trotted up to her and meowed. She bent down to it.

In Minerva's voice, it said: "The password to my office is _petit renard_." The patronus twined itself around Hermione's ankle, meowed again, and disappeared.

She whispered the words to the gargoyle and it slid aside with the sound of stone grinding against stone. There was a clamor from the right wall as soon as she stepped into the room. Every one of the portraits wanted a bit of her attention it seemed. Except Snape, who scowled, and Dumbledore, who nodded, sucking on some kind of candy.

She said her hellos, answered a few polite inquires after the health of her and her friends, and when the room had quieted, pulled one of Minerva's client chairs in front of Dumbledore's portrait.

"Did they paint you with the sweet tooth, or is it a reflection of your personality?" Hermione was curious about magical portraiture.

"A little bit of both, Miss Granger." He gestured to the bowl of candy on the table in his portrait. "A bottomless bowl of sherbet lemons was always a dream of mine. Though I do miss Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans quite a bit." Hermione giggled. The twinkle in the former Headmaster's painted eye was every bit as real and compelling as it had been in the flesh and blood man.

"It's nice to hear your voice again, Headmaster." She had not been as close to Dumbledore as Harry had been, but she missed him, just the same.

"Please, Hermione, call me Albus. Formality is meaningless when you're dead. And a painting." He grinned at her and popped another candy into his mouth. "Now I'm assuming Minerva sent you up here to quiz me about being a guardian of the Heart of the Moor, but there is something else I would like to discuss with you before the school year gets under way." He paused and leaned forward, craning his neck to look at the edges of the picture frames he could see above and beside him.

"You'll have to take me off the wall. They're not likely to leave if they think we're discussing something interesting." He raised his voice a little. "Horrible gossips, the lot of them." There were protests from some of the other portraits.

Hermione glanced around nervously. "Are you sure? No one will mind?"

"No one will mind, my dear. Just pop me down off the wall and we'll go have a nice chat in Minerva's quarters."

"If you insist, Headmaster." Hermione had many doubts about this, but arguing with Dumbledore had always been a bit of a lost cause.

"It's Albus, my dear, and I do insist."

She sighed and stood. She grasped the edges of the plain, but heavy, frame and pulled. The sticking charm that held it to the wall disengaged with a little pop. As soon as the frame came away from the wall, there was once again a clamor from the rest of the portraits.

"No commentary from the peanut gallery, if you please. We're just going for a stroll." Hermione said shortly.

It took Hermione nearly twenty minutes to wrestle the heavy, awkward frame through the hallways and into Minerva's quarters. She was intensely grateful that school was not yet in session and that she encountered no teachers while engaging in grand theft portrait.

Hermione positioned the frame against one arm of the sofa, and put her back against the other, pulling her knees to her chest. She said nothing. It was a tense few moments before Albus spoke.

"Hermione, I hope you will forgive an old man taking a few liberties, and please know I am risking quite a bit of ire by doing this, but I need to talk to you about Minerva." Hermione groaned out loud and dropped her head back onto the arm of the couch. Dumbledore gave her a sympathetic look.

"I know, I know, just hear me out, please." Dumbledore was clearly uncomfortable. Hermione dreaded finding out why.

"Beyond her abilities and accomplishments as a witch, Minerva is an extraordinary woman. You know that, probably better than anyone actually. I'm quite certain she's shown you a side of herself this past week that I have never seen, and I was her closest friend for six decades." Dumbledore looked at her appraisingly. Hermione maintained her silence.

"You have to understand that when someone Minerva loves is threatened, her first impulse is to fly to them, wand drawn, and it is an impulse that has won out more times than I care to count. It nearly won out a multitude of times when Harry, Ron and yourself were off finishing the task I was unable to complete while alive - it was only the dire situation at the school and the threats to the safety of its students that prevented her from seeking you out and offering her assistance. This summer, when she had an inkling that the situation between Ronald and yourself had grown sour, she, much like her namesake's progenitor, prepared for battle 'terrible eyes shining', to quote Homer." He leaned forward, stroking his beard.

"Mr. Weasley has no idea just how real the threat to his wellbeing was that day, Hermione. Minerva is not a woman who threatens violence lightly, and she was prepared to take apart the Ministry, brick by brick, Auror by Auror, to ensure your well-being. It was only a well timed intervention by Tilley that kept her from flying off to do battle for you that day." Hermione knew she should be shocked, maybe even appalled, that the woman she called mentor, friend and something more, was willing to harm others for her, but she wasn't. It only made her realize she was safe and loved, intensifying the feelings she had had since Minerva had met her at the gates to Hogwarts four days ago. She kept her face expressionless.

"Should I be shocked?" She asked the painting. Albus actually seemed relieved that she wasn't.

"No, Hermione. I'm very glad you have some idea of the depth of feeling she has for you. I know at the moment that life seems a little disjointed, but I have faith that you will come through these trials well, particularly with Minerva by your side. Just please, be strong for her. She needs your temperance and your forethought. And your love." Hermione blushed.

"I'm not trying to dictate the way in which the two of you conduct your relationship, Hermione. Just love her in the best way you are able. She needs you, and Hogwarts will need both of you."

"I need her too, Professor." The painting scowled at her. "Albus," she corrected. "I knew that Minerva would be an important part of my life when she crept into my room in Grimmauld Place on little gray paws the summer before fifth year."

Hermione paused a moment, contemplating, eyes focused on a point far away. "I find myself wondering why I didn't always love her. And thinking that maybe I did." Now the lingering blush on her cheeks in belied by the fierce look in her eyes. "For me to leave now she'll have to force me, or I'll have to be ripped away."

Her own fierceness felt vindicating to Hermione, and Albus appeared to feel the same way. The desire to blush and hide her face in her hands, away from the older wizard's piercing gaze still plagued her, but she resisted the urge.

Hermione looked at Albus a few moments more. "Would you like me to take you back to the office?"

"No, my dear. Tilley or Minerva can do it. Why don't you go have a little lie down."

Hermione almost protested, but thought better of it. She shuffled into Minerva's bedroom, lost in thought, shucked off her jeans, and curled up on the bed, under the duvet.


	12. Chapter 11

Minerva apparated into her quarters in a swirl of black silk.

"Hermione? Hermione are you in here?" She asked the still quarters, her voice strained in worry. Then she saw Albus's portrait propped against the arm of her sofa.

"You!." She bit out. It wasn't quite a snarl, but it was a near thing.

"Calm down, Tabby. She's sleeping." He paused significantly and smirked. "In your bed."

Now she did snarl. "If you interfere, Albus, so help me, I will take it out on your canvas." Albus didn't look even remotely worried about her threat.

"She's sleeping in your bed, Minerva." He pouted, which was an utterly improbable expression for him to wear. "I just want you to be happy, Tabby."

"I am quite content, Albus, and she needs time." Her expression softened. "Albus, you cannae meddle in the affairs of my heart when you are not here to pick up the pieces if it falls apart."

Albus's pout turned into another smirk. "Don't be courting trouble by expecting the worst, Minerva." He was smug now, and Minerva itched to hit him with a hex: something annoying and painful.

"Do. Not. Meddle. Albus." Minerva hissed, her eyes flinty. This threat Albus took seriously. It was time to back off.

Hearing voices, and feeling Minerva's worry and then her annoyance, Hermione levered herself out of bed and padded into the living room.

"Minerva, is everything ok?" Hermione stepped into the older witch's arms, heedless of her nearly naked lower half, though when her legs contacted the cool silk of Minerva's robes, she blushed.

"Everything is fine. I was just worried for a moment when I found my office empty of you and Albus's portrait, and the rest of them causing a ruckus." She chuckled. "I cannot believe that old snake charmer got you to take him off the wall. He always had a talent for getting the previously law abiding to throw caution to the wind."

"Stop talking about me as if I weren't in the room, Minerva McGonagall." Albus groused.

"Hermione, could you kindly inform Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore that I am not talking to him. And that he can go suck on a sherbet lemon till his mouth puckers shut?"

Hermione could only giggle, and for a moment, they both lost themselves in the small humor while Albus sputtered indignantly.

After Albus's portrait had been returned to its proper place, and lunch had been devoured, Hermione and Minerva sat on the couch, nibbling on slices of bread laced with cinnamon and raisins that had been included with their meal. Hermione sighed contentedly and Minerva groaned.

"If Tilley keeps feeding us like this, I am going to have to have my robes let out and will sprout a second chin."

Hermione smiled, made a noise of disbelief at the improbability, and continued nibbling.

"Speaking of robes, Hermione, I must pop down to London to attend a fitting at Madame Malkin's. Are you feeling up to a trip to Diagon Alley? Is there anything you need?"

Hermione looked thoughtful a moment, considering.

"I don't have any teaching robes or business robes or anything like that, Minerva. Just my old school robes." She blushed. "But I don't have any money, so I can transfigure my old things to work. It'll be good practice."

Minerva slid closer to the young witch. "I think I was remiss in not discussing the financial implications of your positions as both my apprentice, and as an apprentice at Hogwarts. Room and board are the very least an apprentice is entitled to from their master. As my apprentice you are to receive room and board, recompense for any travel expenses accrued while researching or attending conferences, and 2000 Galleons per annum until an agreed upon level of mastery is reached."

Hermione gasped and opened her mouth to protest. "No Hermione, just listen. This is a system that has been in place for nearly a millennium to free talented young witches and wizards from worry while they continue their studies and gain experience. It has not been until the past few years that I have begun including Hogwarts as place to gain magical mastery and teaching mastery. As a Hogwarts apprentice, you are entitled to 3500 galleons per annum, and after three years of apprenticeship, right of first refusal if the position in your specialty comes available."

Hermione was gaping openly now. "Minerva, that's much too much money." Her voice was shaking slightly. "I don't want to deprive the school, or you of anything."

"Oh, 'Mione. The school has the resources of over a thousand years of investments, patents, and donations. And I am also well situated. You will receive the compensation you are due. And we will get you outfitted for your role as apprentice teacher, okay my dear?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes a little watery. Minerva pulled her into a hug, burying her face in the glossy auburn waves as the young witch tucked her face into Minerva's neck.

Minerva banished their lunch dishes, retrieved her hat and pinned it firmly to her up do. Her underrobe was a diffuse ocher and the overrobe her usual black; both light weight in deference to the summer temperatures. Hermione slipped a linen blazer over her camp shirt and slid on a pair of flats.

Minerva held out her hand to Hermione, who grasped it and stepped to Minerva's side.

"Take a deep breath, my dear." Hermione did, and by the time she was ready to exhale, they were standing in the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

"Very smooth, Ms. McGonagall." Hermione smiled up at the older woman and slid her arm to the crook of Minerva's elbow.

"Mmmmm, one of the perks of our position. The Heart helps smooth the transition when apparating to or from the school." Minerva was nearly purring, and the use of magic made her eyes glow a luminous green.

Minerva pulled out her wand with her free hand and tapped the bricks to open the passage to Diagon Alley. As they stepped into the street, Hermione was sure that Minerva would remove her hand, but she merely turned them towards the imposing edifice of Gringotts, content to remain in physical contact with Hermione.


	13. Chapter 12

As they strolled, people parted around them like water around the prow of a boat. Nearly everyone that met Minerva's eyes on the street gave her a nod, or touched a finger to the brim of a hat. When Hermione caught a glimpse of red hair through the sea of people, she flinched and pressed into Minerva, who uncrooked her arm and slid it around Hermione's shoulder.

"Almost there," she murmured into Hermione's ear. She twitched the wrist of her free hand and the heavy doors of the bank swung open. Inside, Minerva led Hermione to a small, sumptuously furnished room that seemed to be some sort of private waiting room.

Hermione perched on one of the lather chairs while Minerva busied herself pulling paperwork from thin air. It took only a moment for the door to swing open and for an elderly goblin to limp in, aided by a small cane.

"Headmistress, Ms. Granger." His voice was gravelly. "What can Gringott's do for you this afternoon?"

"Gridnik, this is a surprise. I thought you were taking a leave of absence for the rest of the summer."

"Well, the best laid plans, Headmistress. I am sure you are aware of how ridiculous the few weeks before start of term can be. I've had to handle the overflow of new accounts created for new students joining the wizarding world." He shifted uncomfortably and shot a glance at Hermione.

"Hermione is about to start her first term as a Hogwart's apprentice. She is also my personal apprentice in Transfiguration." Minerva said with obvious pride in her voice.

"Very well. We would prefer that she remain above ground during her visit. Or at the very least, stay in your company." Hermione blushed furiously. Minerva pursed her lips.

"Minerva, you know I have no problems with what happened here two years ago. Desperate times necessitate desperate acts. And you know that most goblins feel the same way, but there are those who think that Voldemort and the Death Eaters were our best chance at obtaining equal rights within the wizarding community." Minerva scoffed at this.

"I know. Just keep her close, Minerva. And Ms. Granger, send me an owl when you have time to talk. I would like to know more details about your escapades in our vaults. Security and all that."

"Of course, sir." Hermione smiled shyly at the wrinkled goblin.

"Now, what can I do for you today Minerva?" Gridnik asked again.

"I have authorizations here for transfers from my accounts and the school's accounts to Ms. Granger's account in the specified amounts." She handed him two of the form letters. "And this final one is - well, its all laid out clearly. You can owl if you have questions."

"I will take care of this personally Minerva. Does Ms. Granger need any coinage, or will she be charging purchases directly to her account today?"

Minerva looked at Hermione, who shrugged. "We'll charge. She needs a new wardrobe and carrying that much coin would be silly."

"Do you want to wait for receipts or should I owl them to you with the rest of the monthlies?"

"We are going to head out. Include Hermione's receipts with mine and," she turned to Hermione, "you'll get them in a few days."

"That's fine, Minerva." Hermione took Minerva's hand and tucked herself into the older woman's side. "Let's go shopping."

"We will see ourselves out, Gridnik."

"Of course, Minerva. It was good to see you. I hope your start of term is placid and without mishap!" The goblin smiled slyly at Minerva.

"We both know the odds of that, Gridnik." Minerva said, chuckling.

Hermione and Minerva left the bank, still holding hands. Madame Malkin's was only a few doors down from the bank, and as soon as Minerva stepped through the door the proprietor and her assistant were on her like a pair of extravagantly robed flies. Hermione let go of Minerva's hand and backed away to stand quietly next to a rack of men's robes.

"Stop fussing, the both of you. I'm here for a fitting, but Ms. Granger needs teaching robes and something for formal occasions."

Madame Malkin and her assistant noticed Hermione standing shyly out of the way. Now she was in their sights, and they fluttered over to her. Madame Malkin was robed in conservatively cut garments of eye watering magenta, and her assistant, an unctuous man with oiled hair, was wearing a tailored muggle three piece suit with a cape covering it. He had to be sweltering.

"Ms. Granger! How lovely to see you again, my dear. How have you been? How are your lovely parents? How are your..." She was off like a steam engine, not even aware that Hermione wasn't answering her. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Minerva who lifted a shoulder in response.

"Suzetta!" Minerva's tone was sharp, and Madame Malkin jumped. The assistant's knees almost gave out. "You can catch up with Hermione later. She needs a wardrobe by Monday, Suzetta, that's a bit of a stretch even for you."

Madame Malkin sniffed loudly in disagreement. "Hardly, Minerva. That's barely the task of a single day."

Minerva spread her hands in an expansive gesture, as if daring the other woman to prove her wrong.

When Hermione was safely ensconced in a changing room with a selection of robes, Minerva entered a cubicle of her own to try on a set of formal robes that Madame Malkin had designed for her.

When Hermione pulled back the curtain to use the full length mirrors, Minerva was already standing in front of the mirrors. The gown Minerva had on (because it was only nominally a robe) was black and full skirted, though the bodice and sleeves fit like a glove. The neck was cut modestly, and a low, stiff collar framed her shoulders. When Minerva turned around, Hermione's jaw dropped. The dress was nearly backless; tapering down to a point at the base of the older woman's spine.

Hermione watched Minerva eye herself critically, smoothing the gown over her hips and stomach. When she saw Hermione watching, she caught her eye and smiled broadly.

"Minerva! You look...wow." Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the bare skin of Minerva's back. "That's a good deal, uh, more revealing than the formal robes you wore when I was at school."

"Mmmm, well, this is for an adults only function, I assure you." She gave Hermione a once over in the mirror. "That is a nice look for you, 'Mione."

Hermione was wearing a set of high necked, close fitting navy robes of a light-weight gabardine. The button closures ended at the waist of the robes, where they gathered slightly and fell to mid-calf. A pair of high-waisted grey pants completed the outfit.

"What did Antonio give you to go with the pants?" Hermione wordlessly unbuttoned the robes exposing a soft pink silk boatneck shell. It was sheer, and Minerva could see the lace pattern of Hermione's bra through the silk. She licked her lips. Hermione mirrored the action.

"There are different weights and colors for all of it. Some skirts too."

"Are you satisfied with the variety? Would you like to take a trip to Harrod's or Selfridge's or somewhere to get more pants and tops?"

"I think I'm good actually. Antonio was telling me he has a friend who is a buyer for Harrod's - that's where Malkin gets her selection of muggle clothes. The style is good for me. Easy to mix and match, no frills, good materials."

Minerva looked at Hermione appraisingly. "Come here, my dear." Minerva extended her hand to the young witch. She positioned Hermione in front of the mirror and began to gather the shiny auburn waves into a coil. She twisted the hair into a figure eight and secured it with a few pins she conjured out of thin air.

Hermione twisted her neck to get a look at her new 'do. "I like it. It makes me look older."

"Mmmmm, you look lovely." Minerva's hands were still on Hermione's shoulders. Both witches were transfixed by the picture they made in the mirror.

"You look amazing, Minerva." She blushed. "That dress is wicked."

Minerva could only smirk and resist the urge to pull Hermione against her body.

"Put the garments you want in a pile, 'Mione. We will come collect everything after we procure some shoes and maybe a bauble or two to complete your wardrobe."

Hermione could only smile and resist the urge to lean back against Minerva's slender, silk-clad body.


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Rather than leaving you to languish with nothing (note my winking jocularity, please), here is a small update. Expect a return to more regularly scheduled fluff by mid-May, when my semester is over.

At Einbert Finklehorn's Shoe Emporium, Hermione selected a pair of low heeled leather ankle boots and a pair of slightly higher pumps that could change into a variety of colors. Minerva also selected a pair of pseudo tactical lace up boots in black.

"You need something sturdy for when we head into the forest, my dear. And I can guarantee that we will need to at least once before Christmas."

With the shoes wrapped up, Minerva took Hermione's arm and led her back into the street. They strolled, arm in arm, along the alley. The people were densely packed; quitting time at the Ministry and the Prophet, but still people hustled out of Minerva's way. Hermione bit back a chuckle.

"The fear of McGonagall, Hermione. Its a well documented phenomenon, I told you." Minerva murmured into Hermione's ear. Hermione did giggle at this.

Minerva led the young woman into Marshall's Fine Jewelry and Charmed Objects, where she was greeted by the proprietor, Annabella Marshall, a muggle-born witch with a talent for jewelry design and advanced charms work.

"Professor! I'm glad to see you back so soon. And this must be Ms. Granger." The older woman held out her hand for Hermione, who shook it.

"Anna, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Minerva? Or am I going to have to call you Ms. Marshall in retaliation?"

"I'm sorry, Minerva. You're here to pick up your order?"

"Yes. Though Hermione has the right to make any changes she desires." Hermione peered curiously at Minerva.

From under the counter, Anna produced a small cloth bag emblazoned with the AM logo of the store. She unsnapped the bag and unfolded it. Curled on the cloth was a fox-shaped hair clip made from clear amber and accented with rose gold. At the tip of its tail a diamond sparkled. Hermione gasped and brought her hands up to cover her mouth.

Minerva smiled shyly at Hermione and stroked one long finger down the fox's amber spine. It uncurled and stood up. Hermione gasped again. Minerva reached back to gather Hermione's hair into a loose ponytail. She picked up the fox clasp and curled it around the thick mass of hair, where it froze back into its curled position. Once it was in place, she tapped it with her index finger and said _Tignon_. Hermione's hair twisted into the neat figure eight that Minerva had created in Madame Malkin's.

Hermione's hands flew to the back of her head. "Oh, Minnie. It's beautiful." Hermione threw her arms around Minerva's neck and buried her face in the older woman's shoulder. Minerva wrapped her arms around Hermione's torso and blushed, looking bemused. Anna smiled slyly at the faintly crimson Headmistress.

Hermione was crying now. Minerva could feel her tears dampening the silk of her robes. "You can't ever make me leave, Minnie. Don't ever make me leave." She sobbed. Minerva stroked her back, kissed the top of her head, and whispered soothing nonsense into the girl's ear. Anna blushed and walked around the counter to lock the door. She disappeared into the back to give the formidable women some privacy.

It took five minutes for Hermione to calm down again.

"Are you alright, _mo cridhe, _my little fox?" Minerva could feel her nod, could feel her breath moist against her neck. She suppressed a shudder.

When she spoke, Hermione's voice was rough. "You can't ever push me away, Minerva. I won't ever be able to leave you. Not again."

"I dunnae want you to, 'Mione. I never wanted you to." Minerva felt a tear slip down her own cheek.

Minerva ran a finger down the fox clasp's spine. It loosened and came free in Minerva's hand. She buried her fingers in Hermione's abundance of hair and inhaled the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon.

"Can we go home, Minnie?"

"Of course we can. We have to finish up here, and retrieve your new clothes and we can head straight back to my quarters."

They separated, Minerva trailed an index finger along Hermione's jaw and looked into Hermione's reddened eyes.

"_Mo cridhe._" She cupped Hermione's chin, and leaned forward to kiss Hermione on the forehead.

When Anna poked her head out from the back room, she saw that Hermione and Minerva had separated and bustled back into the show room.

"Is there anything else I can do for you Minerva? Ms. Granger?"

"I think we're set, Anna. You've created something spectacular, once again. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure, Minerva. Hermione, if you need the charm refreshed, just come back and I'll take care of it for you."

"Thank you Ms. Marshall. You are very, very talented."

Minerva wrapped the fox back in its bag and tucked it into Hermione's blazer pocket. They left the shop and returned to Madame Malkin's arm in arm.


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Warning for Angry!Ron.**

Hermione's bed was full of bags colored Madame Malkin's signature magenta. Minerva had started separating things for the wash when Tilley had popped into the room with supper and shooed Minerva away from the bags.

"Eat, you silly witches. I'll have Hermione's clothes ready by morning."

Hermione started to protest, but the house elf silenced her with a narrowing of her enormous golden eyes.

"Yes, Tilley. Thank you." She said. Minerva faintly echoed the sentiment, and they retired to their meal.

Minerva looked at Hermione; a little bemused and a little sly. "I'm glad that I am no longer the only one Tilley bosses around."

"She's more of a tyrant than you are, Minerva."

"Where do you think I learned it from, my dear."

Hermione fought very hard to keep a straight face and focused her concentration on the lovely curry over rice that Tilley had served for supper.

It was nearing nine o'clock and Hermione and Minerva were both lounging in front of the fire: Minerva writing letters, Hermione devouring Minerva's old lesson plans for first and second year transfiguration students. Minerva slid her lap desk onto the coffee table and stretched.

"This has been a remarkably pleasant evening, little fox." Minerva had stripped off her over robe and boots and her bare feet were propped on the coffee table. Hermione closed the folder she was reading from and tossed it onto the table where it landed with a plop. Then she scooted down the couch and dropped her head on Minerva's shoulder.

"I agree." She tangled her fingers with Minerva's and made a happy little noise in the back of her throat. "I'm so glad to be here with you, Minnie."

"I am so very happy to have you here, _mo cridhe_." Minerva said softly.

They sat quietly together, both lost in their thoughts, lost in the flickering of the heatless flame in the fireplace.

A loud pop sounded, rattling the windows in the tower, heralding Tilley's appearance in the room, her eyes a little wild.

"Mistress, young Master Weasley is waiting in the entrance hall. He is quite incensed."

Minerva grimaced. "Well, I suppose this was inevitable." She smoothed Hermione's hair. "Are you up for this, 'Mione? Do you want me to get rid of him?"

Hermione sighed. "No, Minnie. He's my problem. Will you come with me while I talk to him?"

"I would be happy to, Hermione." She squeezed Hermione's hand. "Please show him to my office, Tilley."

Hermione shrugged her blazer back on and slid her feet back into her flats while Minerva smoothed her hair into shape and pulled her over robe back on. Instead of her impossible lace-up boots, she pulled a pair of clogs out from under the sofa and jammed her feet into them.

Before they left the tower, Hermione grabbed Minerva's hand and pulled her close. Standing on her tiptoes, she brought her face to within millimeters of the older woman's and kissed her softly, so softly that the skin barely brushed, on the lips.

Tucking her face into Minerva's neck she said, "I will never, ever leave you Minerva McGonagall."

Minerva crushed Hermione to her in a hug.

"And I will always stand by your side, _mo cridhe_."

Arm in arm, they made their way to Minerva's office.

Hermione saw Minerva put on her Headmistress face as they approached the stone gargoyle. Hermione squeezed her hand.

The gargoyle swung open as Minerva approached. Minerva squeezed Hermione's hand, then released it, and moved to precede Hermione into the office. She swept up the stairs and into the office, Hermione right on her heels.

Ron was standing stiffly in front of Minerva's desk, his face nearly purple, his jaw clenched. The portraits were oddly silent. Albus in particular had a grim look on his face.

"Mister Weasley, what can I do for you this evening?" Minerva's voice sounded like it had every single day of their school years; crisp, precise and completely no-nonsense.

Hermione entered the office to stand at Minerva's side.

"What I want to know, McGonagall, is what business you have taking a stroll with my girlfriend on Diagon Alley." Ron's voice was terse. He looked furious.

Hermione put a hand on Minerva's arm to forestall her response.

"Ron, you know as well as I do that our romantic association has been over for quite a while. I told you as much when I left Monday. I don't belong to you Ron, I never did."

Ron's jaw clenched tighter and he drew his wand. Hermione imagined that she could hear the enamel of his molars cracking.

He was shouting now, his wand waving dangerously: "You owe me Hermione, after all I did for you. And now you're hanging all over this dried up, wrinkled old dyke, embarrassing me in front of everyone."

Before he had finished his sentence, Hermione was across the room, her wand out, the tip pressed into the soft flesh under Ron's chin.

"Don't you ever, ever speak like that about Minerva again, Ronald Weasley." She growled, breathing heavily through her nose. Ron gulped, his adam's apple bobbing an inch away from where the point of Hermione's wand dug into his chin.

"So its true, then." Ron was still angry, and apparently stupid enough to push Hermione. "You're sleeping with that old bitch." He choked out a laugh. "I always thought you were frigid, but I guess you just like shriveled-up old cunt."

Hermione growled, the sound coming from deep in her chest. A trickle of blood dripped down Ron's neck.

Minerva took the few steps forward that would put her at Hermione's side. She put a hand on the young woman's wand arm.

"Now, now, _mo cridhe_. I'm in no mood to hide a body tonight." Hermione lowered her arm, shaking visibly. Ron gulped again; the look in both woman's eyes was deadly. He wasn't sure what was more frightening: Minerva's icy, controlled anger or Hermione's obvious rage.

"Mister Weasley, I was kind enough to allow you into my home this evening though my first instinct was to deny you access. I guess I was operating under the misconception that you were an adult - a man, and not a spoiled child."

Minerva tilted her head, maintaining eye contact with Ron, her voice completely even, her tone conversational, even light.

"I'm going to give you a few tidbits about myself Ronald, things you would not have known as my student. I am a sixth level master of transfiguration. The only one the world over. As such, if I desire or if I am provoked, I can change you Ronald, change you at the atomic level." She smiled, showing her teeth a little. "I can change you into a rock, Ronald, into a rat or a cockroach, and leave your mind intact."

She leaned a little closer. "The secret, Ronald, about atomic transfiguration, is that it is very, very permanent. It will persist even when I die. It will persist unless another Master of sufficient skill, knowledge, and precision changes your every atom back to its original condition."

Minerva grasped Hermione's hand and sat back on her heels.

"If you ever, ever wave a wand at Hermione in such a way again, or scare her again, or even look at her cross-eyed again, I will transfigure your dick into the shriveled old cunt you seem to so revile, and no one will be able to change it back."

She bared her teeth in that mockery of a smile again. "I know at some point your bravado will once more overcome your good sense, and when it does, I ask you to remember just what I am capable of, Ronald. You saw me fight in a number of battles; saw me kill to protect you and your friends. Do not think for a second I will not deal with you to protect Hermione, because I will, speedily, and with very little remorse."

"Now Ronald, there is a jar of Floo powder on the mantle. Take a handful and leave. You are no longer welcome here and will be barred from the premises if you try to come again."

Ron was shaking - Hermione didn't know if it was anger or fear - when he scooped a handful of powder from the jar on the mantle. Before he tossed it on the fire, he turned to the two witches and said, his voice shaking as hard as the rest of him, "You'll pay for this, you crazy dykes. I'll make you pay."

Hermione lunged forward, her wand raised again, but Ron managed to throw the powder into the fire and step into the hearth before the words of an appropriate hex or curse could reach her lips.

When he had disappeared, Hermione made a sound halfway between a sob and a guffaw and threw herself against Minerva.

"Such a fierce little witch." Minerva petted Hermione's hair as the girl laughed and cried into her robes.

"That man is a rat bastard, Minnie. What happened to sweet, dim, loyal Ron Weasley?"

"Oh, _mo cridhe_, he experienced a trauma and grew up, rather poorly, I might add. I think that maybe he has more problems than PTSD." She pressed her lips to Hermione's forehead. "He seems to feel rather entitled. To you, especially."

Hermione growled. "I'm not his. I was never his."

"You are very much your own witch, 'Mione. Ronald seems to be the only person confused about that fact." She kissed the top of Hermione's head. "Now, let's go have a cup of tea and go to bed." Hermione nodded into her chest.

Ensconced together on the couch with chamomile tea and oatmeal raisin cookies, Hermione could barely resist the urge to crawl into Minerva's lap and curl up there. If she had had the energy to transform, she would have done it in fox form.

"Can we go to bed, Minnie?"

"Let's."

Hermione changed into her nightshirt and went to hover in Minerva's doorway, nervous about asking to sleep in the older woman's bed. The door was open, nearly all the way, and Minerva was changing. The older witch's back was bare - her broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. The muscles in her back looked like those in the backs of the swimmers Hermione had watched in the muggle Olympics that summer. Hermione nearly groaned in disappointment when Minerva pulled her nightgown over her head.

"Are you going to keep tap-dancing in the doorway, or are you going to come to bed, 'Mione?"

"That sounds nice." Hermione's mouth was dry. Minerva smirked as she pulled the covers back.

Hermione and Minerva met in the middle of the bed, wrapped their arms around one another, and fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 15

Minerva woke with Hermione's leg thrown across her hips, and her tousled, auburn head tucked under her arm. Despite the emotional upheaval of the last few days, Minerva could not believe her good fortune. Hermione accepted and gave affection without reservation. She trusted Minerva, and Minerva's masks (educator, administrator, stalwart hero of the wizarding world) had fallen away so easily that she couldn't imagine putting them back on. She smiled and allowed herself ten minutes to revel in the weight and feel of Hermione against her.

Minerva peeled Hermione's arms and legs off her and slid a pillow under the sleeping woman. Her first order of business for the morning was to inform the Auror office and magical law enforcement about Ron's behavior the night before. She scribbled two quick notes to Gawain Robards and Kingsley Shacklebolt and closed them with her personal seal.

It was still early; too early to wake Hermione when she was still recovering from the effects of a magical draining. Maybe they could do something pleasant and relaxing for lunch. Minerva sighed and sat back to finish the correspondence she had abandoned the night before.

When Hermione shuffled out of the bedroom, bare legged and bed headed, Minerva smiled broadly at her.

"Good morning, my dear." Hermione threw herself down on the couch next to Minerva and listed starboard until her head was on Minerva's shoulder.

"Mmmmmffffff. Hi." Hermione's eyes were closed; Minerva wasn't sure that she had opened them yet. "Breakfast?"

"As the lady wishes." Minerva summoned her tray and tea service. A massive stack of pancakes smothered with fresh berry compote was the centerpiece. Eggs and sausages were ready to be served in their own dishes. Minerva poured Hermione a mug of chocolate and herself a mug of tea. Hermione dished out eggs, sausage and cakes on the warmed plates Tilley had provided.

Hermione passed Minerva her plate and tucked in. The moan she made at the first bite of pancakes was blatantly sexual. Minerva's bite of sausage felt like a rock in her throat.

"Am I going to be able to get Tilley's breakfasts once the semester starts?" Hermione asked with her mouth full.

"We can share breakfast in here most mornings, if you want," Minerva admitted shyly, blushing and keeping her keeping her eyes on her plate.

"I would love that, Minnie, but can you get away with missing breakfast in the Great Hall that much?"

"Headmistress's prerogative, _mo cridhe_."

"Good. I don't want to give you up entirely to the students."

"We'll have time together 'Mione, I'll make sure of it." Hermione grinned at her, her teeth stained blue by the berries on her pancakes.

They spent a relaxed morning. Hermione took a long soak in the tub with a book spelled against water damage. Minerva worked on her endless stack of correspondence.

Minerva was starting to think about asking Tilley to pack a picnic for two when the elf popped into the room. There was a grim look on her wrinkled face.

"I am absolutely sure I do not want to know what you have to tell me." Hermione's eyes shot up from her book at Minerva's grim tone. She cocked her head at Minerva questioningly.

"Mister Robards has arrived. I tried to direct him to your office, but he is on his way up here." Minerva sighed and rose, dropping her letters on the table. It took but a wave of her hand to summon an outer robe from her room, and close the doors to the bedrooms and bathroom. She drew the robe on and closed it with a spark of magic. Another thought smoothed out her braid and curled the end into a knot at the base of her neck.

Hermione caught her eye and blew her a kiss. Minerva's heart swelled. The door at the base of the tower banged open and the sound of footsteps echoed on the stairs. She drew herself up and slammed down her Headmistress mask.

The look on Minerva's face when the Auror slammed into the room gave Gawain Robards pause, but the head of steam he had built up did not dissipate.

"What is the meaning of this Minerva? Why is one of my Aurors-in-training shouting around the Ministry that you kidnapped his girlfriend and threatened him at wand point when he came to retrieve her?"

Minerva's tone was positively icy. "I cannot say I am surprised to find that political office has turned another stalwart, intelligent person into a suggestible fool." Robard's skin flushed purple at her insults, and Minerva could see his fists clench.

"Minerva, I know that you feel as if you have weight you can throw around at the Ministry, but I was duly appointed by the Minister of Magic and confirmed by the Wizengamot, and I demand some explanations for the accusations that Mr. Weasley has leveled against you."

"Tell me, Gawain, what exactly about a entitled young man suffering from severe PTSD inspires enough confidence in you that you not only believe him, but then come here slinging accusations at me." Minerva used the same tone that she used with particularly dense students; like laying a trail of breadcrumbs to lead an idiot into a trap. Gawain's face grew steadily paler, but his jaw and fists remained clenched.

"What I cannot understand," she continued to muse conversationally, "is how someone exhibiting paranoia, hyper vigilance and violent mood swings has failed to raise red flags at the Auror Office and the Ministry in general."

Now the wind was out of Robard's sails, but his lips remained pressed together in a thin, whitening line, his anger yet apparent.

"Ah, I see. You kept it a secret." Reading Robards was as simple as reading her daily newspaper – she didn't even need magic to do so. "It is disturbing to me that you are using the brave witches and wizards of the Auror Corp to keep the Minister in the dark and perpetuate the suffering of a boy. You have twenty-four hours, Gawain, to begin to right these wrongs, including making a full report to the Minister." She crossed her arms across her chest. "And do not even think about embellishing or trying to lay the blame elsewhere. Kingsley already has my initial observations, and with Mr. Weasley's public outburst, I expect he will draw the same conclusions I have."

"Now, get the hell out of my home." Robards' face darkened again. She held up a hand to forestall any protest.

"Unless you want me to file an official complaint with the Wizengamot about not only your unprofessional conduct, Robards, but about the failure of the Ministry to provide treatment for a war-hero suffering from PTSD, you will leave, now."

The Auror glowered, turned on his heel, and left. Minerva rounded the sofa and fell back on the cushions with a huff. Hermione moved to sit next to her, and took her hand.

"Such a fierce witch," she said. Minerva sighed.

"We've not heard the last of this, 'Mione. I was not exaggerating when I said that the power of political office turns men into idiots."

"Well, Minnie, you are a sure-fire antidote to idiocy."

Minerva raised an eyebrow and commented wryly: "Sometimes it feels as if I'm trying to push back the tides, 'Mione." She cast a glance sideways. "Let's get out of here for the afternoon, _mo cridhe_."

"What do you have in mind?"

"A picnic in the Highlands?"

"A lovely notion, Ms. McGonagall."

"We'll leave in an hour, my dear. I have to make a call to be sure Robards and Ronald do not do anything more stupid." She kissed the girl's knuckles before excusing herself to her office.


	17. Chapter 16

Minerva exited her bedroom wearing a pair of olive drab cargo pants and boots similar to the ones Hermione had purchased the day before. A black long sleeved shirt completed the outfit, but she carried a thick woolen jumper to ward off any chill in the Highlands. Hermione was dressed similarly, her jeans tucked into her boots, a light zip up sweatshirt covering her plum t-shirt.

"Do you have anything warmer, _mo cridhe_. The winds coming off the loch can be cold, even in August."

"Only my old school robes."

"I have just the thing, then." She returned to her bedroom, opened her wardrobe and withdrew a tartan coat. She handed it to Hermione.

"This should do nicely." Hermione pulled the coat on. It was loose and made of fine woven wool, sort of like a shawl with sleeves and a cowl. It didn't have buttons, or a zipper, but fastened magically, like Minerva's robes. When the front was closed, the emerald and black and thin red and yellow stripes of the tartan were perfectly aligned. Minerva drew the cowl over Hermione's hair and kissed the young woman's forehead.

Minerva hefted the large picnic basket Tilley had left on the coffee table. She crooked her other arm for Hermione and the girl took her arm. They disapparated.

They came back into being on a low, green hill overlooking a long narrow lake. An imposing granite outcropping loomed over one edge of the scene.

"Oh, Minnie. It's lovely." Hermione sucked in a lungful of the cool Highland air.

"Mmmmmm. This is one of my favorite spots on this earth. My estate is two hills back that way." She gestured back over her shoulder. "We can head that way when we finish eating. I have arranged for us to spend a few nights there, if you are amenable."

"I most certainly am amenable, Ms. McGonagall." Minerva placed the basket on the ground and tapped it with her wand. From the basket sprung a blanket, which settled itself on the ground. A variety of serving dishes leapt out to arrange themselves on the blanket.

"Voila and bon appetit, my dear." They both sat down on the blanket. Minerva poured Hermione a mug of chocolate from a thermos. Everything that Tilley had provided for lunch was finger food; meat, cheese and greens wrapped in flat bread, a large thermos of vegetable soup with sipping mugs, crudite, bite sized baclava and fruit tarts. Hermione reached for the baclava first.

"Ms. Granger! I do not believe those were intended to be the first course!" Hermione snagged one anyway and bit into it, enjoying the crisp filo dough and the sweet honey and nuts in the center.

"Mmmmmm. My favorite." She licked the last of the filling off her fingers then bit into a sandwich roll.

As they ate, Minerva told Hermione about the history of Loch Maree and about growing up on its shores. By the time she left for Hogwarts, she had explored every island in the Loch. When she was fourteen and home on summer break, Minerva met the _muc-sheilche_, the giant freshwater eel that lived in the lake. Apparently, it thought overturning her little skiff was a good lark.

Once the dishes had been packed away, and the basket banished, they lay side by side on the blanket, pinkies touching. The sky was a washed out blue, and a brisk Scottish wind pushed fluffy, cumulus clouds across the lake and over the horizon.

They talked until the sun started to dip below the horizon. Minerva shouldn't have been surprised that Hermione's recall of first and second year transfiguration exercises was perfect, and that her study of transfiguration theory outstripped what would have been available in the average wizarding library. Hermione was definitely not surprised that Minerva had dry observations to impart about almost everyone they knew, though it was pleasant to find out that despite her sharp sense of humor, the older witch genuinely liked almost every one.

Minerva levered herself off the blanket covered mat of sedges and grass, helped Hermione do the same, and threw the blanket around both their shoulders. Shoulders close, hands clasped, they strolled away from the lake, in the direction Minerva had indicated earlier.

As they crested the next hill, Hermione could see a large granite manor house nestled in the valley before them. There was no drive, but a broad expanse of grass surrounded the house on all sides, and a hedge could be seen peeking out from behind the house. It was beautiful. And isolated. And warm, yellow light spilled out across the darkening lawn from nearly every window.

"Tilley seems to have turned on a few lights in preparation for our arrival. I expect that there will be an enormous meal waiting for us, as well."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from dear Tilley. I suspect she will have to let my new pants out before long."

"We are under the strictest of doctor's orders to ensure you eat heartily and often, Ms. Granger." She grinned at the young witch, her white teeth flashing in the gloaming. "And I can assure you that Tilley takes doctor's orders much more seriously than I ever have." Hermione snorted.

As they neared the house, the front door swung open and a small silhouette stood backlighted in the vestibule. Its hands were on its hips. Minerva cringed.

"She'll boss ya as much as your own _mathair_, 'Mione. Be sure to boss right back." There was laughter and infinite good humor in her voice. Hermione couldn't help but smile into the dusk.

Tilley waited until they mounted the steps to lay into Minerva, sounding every inch a scolding mother. She questioned Minerva's good sense heartily for taking a fragile girl out on the chilly moors with the sun setting.

Minerva scolded her right back. She maybe cavalier about her own health, but she would never endanger Hermione. Tilley knows very well that the coat is spelled for warming and dryness. Minerva is a grown woman thank you very much, and is perfectly capable of walking from the Loch to the house on a summer evening.

Hermione laughed at them until tears streamed down her cheeks.

By the time the mutual, but affectionate, tirades were complete, Hermione was settled into a wicker bottomed kitchen chair with a mug of hot chocolate. Apparently she wasn't allowed tea, though Minerva had her long fingers wrapped around a tartan ceramic mug of the stuff. Tilley bustled around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a large roast turkey, a pan of dressing and a skillet of lightly seared string beans.

As she cooked, Tilley ranted about the temerity of men - Aurors and Ministers and boyfriends alike, punctuating her points with bastes of the bird or swishes of the skillet.

"She's worried about you," Minerva leaned over and whispered to Hermione. Tilley scowled at her.

"I used to get in trouble for whispering to cousins at the table," Minerva said conversationally. Tilley scowled again.

"You were and are enough trouble for four girls, Minerva McGonagall, and if you don't behave, I'm going to start telling tales on you."

"I am always well behaved, Tilley McGonagall." Minerva sniffed haughtily.

"Oh, truly? What about the time you put a super-slickness charm on the chairs around that very table? Or the time you charmed this very cookware to play the percussion parts from one of Beethoven's symphonies whenever someone said the word 'supper'?"

"Youthful hijinks, Tilley. The young deserve some leniency, a fact I am well acquainted with."

"You pulled those tricks on me last Christmas, Minerva McGonagall," Tilley said with outrage in her voice.

Hermione laughed so hard that her stomach cramped up.

After supper, Minerva escorted Hermione to the library that occupied the entire eastern half of the manor's first and second floors. The fire in the hearth and the ornate glasses sconces lit the room well and gave the wood of the shelves and floor a burnished glow. The first floor was dominated by a large table (for research, Hermione presumed) and the set of squashy looking furniture in front of the fireplace. A second floor walkway railed in wrought iron circled the room above their heads.

Hermione smirked at Minerva. "Would it be presumptuous of me to say this meets my expectations exactly?"

"I come by my obsession with books honestly, Hermione. It might even be encoded into the McGonagall DNA." Hermione giggled at Minerva's serious expression.

"You laugh now, but they'll start multiplyin' and spread into your space and you'll be trippin' over 'em and findin' 'em in the tub."

"I take your warning under advisement, Minnie, but you're talking to a girl who twisted her parents' arms to get them to put a bookshelf in the bathroom." Minerva threw her head back and let out a brief shout of laughter.

"Well, I shall take that under advisement, my dear little fox."

A gruff voice came from the walkway around the second floor shelves: "Is that my little Minerva? Where've you been, lass?"

"Hello, da." She pantomimed a rectangular shape around her torso and Hermione nodded in comprehension. The elder McGonagall was a portrait "I've been working, da. Term starts in little more than a week." She took Hermione's hand and pulled her towards the curling staircase in the corner of the library.

Mr. McGonagall's portrait hung on the exposed brick of the chimney, looking out over the library and onto the moors beyond the bank of windows that made up the outer wall of the house. The man himself was as broad shouldered as his daughter, with the same extraordinary green eyes, though his hair and neatly trimmed beard were a steely gray. He was painted from mid-torso up, wearing what appeared to be a muggle business suit from the 1940's or 50's.

"And who is this bonny young lady?" The man in the portrait leaned forward and the familiarity of his green eyes gave Hermione a shiver.

"Stop flirtin', da." She rolled her eyes at her father; he flirted with absolutely everyone. "'Mione, this is my father, Ewan McGonagall. Da, this is Hermione Granger, a teaching apprentice at Hogwarts, and my friend and Transfiguration apprentice."

"Ah! One of them that hunted down the horcruxes. Nasty business, that."

"The nastiest, sir" Even thinking about the soul splitting magics made Hermione's skin crawl and she leaned into Minerva's side. The older witch wrapped a warm arm around her waist. Ewan arched an eyebrow at them and Minerva arched one right back, daring her father to say something. Hermione wanted to chuckle, but she could only blush.

"We're going to retire for the night, da. I was only showing Hermione the house." She gestured for Hermione to precede her down the narrow balcony. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, da; we're staying a few days."

"Sleep well, lassies."

Minerva was about to lead Hermione to the guest room next to her master suite on the second floor when the fierce blush and shy look in the young witch's eyes stopped her.

"Should I assume that sharin' my bed will be default from now on, 'Mione? When you have to ask you blush so hard it looks fair painful." Minerva teased. Hermione's cheeks reddened further.

"I don't want to be presumptuous, Minnie, but I can't bear sleeping without you." Minerva pulled the slender body into hers and Hermione tucked her face into the taller woman's chest and slid her arms around her waist.

"I think we both know what is happening between us, little fox. And I could not be happier; I have never been happier, and I want nothing more than for you to share my bed every night, ok?" She felt the young woman nod. "And maybe things are a little out of order, but remember there is literally no historical precedent for a romantic relationship between animagi." Hermione pulled back a little to look into Minerva's eyes, a contemplative expression her face. Then she snorted.

"Minerva McGongall; breaking new ground professionally and personally," she said, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her mouth.

"Sassy witch." Hermione nodded in agreement and tucked her head back over Minerva's heart. She could feel the threads of love stretching between herself and the precious woman holding her and she sighed happily.


	18. Chapter 17

Curled around Hermione, Minerva woke as the sky touching the horizon began to glow a cool pink. She could see the early dawn through the french doors that lead out on to her balcony terrace. Her internal clock rarely let her sleep past six, even on days where nothing pressing awaited her attention. She buried her face into Hermione's hair and inhaled; her little fox smelled like sandalwood and sunshine and the heather that grew on the moors surrounding the manor. Minerva closed her eyes, preparing to fall back to sleep.

"Minnie?" Hermione whispered urgently. She sounded distressingly awake.

"Hmmm?"

"Please tell me that isn't your mother watching us sleep."

"Seanmhair." Minerva groaned. "Grandmere."

"Even better," said the young witch sarcastically, then she turned over to face Minerva, propped her head on a hand, and looked at the older woman with soft eyes. With her free hand, she trailed a finger down Minerva's cheekbone and along her jaw.

"You are so beautiful, Minnie." Her hand traced down Minerva's neck, dipping briefly into the hollow at its base, and then continuing over her collarbone. Down, down the hand went, until it stopped just above Minerva's buttocks. Hermione used it to pull herself closer to Minerva, dropping her head onto the pillow and snaking a leg over the older woman's hip in the same motion. Minerva bit back a groan at the full body contact; she could feel Hermione's full breasts just beneath hers, could feel the soft skin of her inner thigh where their nightshirts had ridden up.

"You don't have to hide it or fight it, Minnie. I feel it, too." As if to demonstrate her point she ghosted her lips along the column of Minerva's throat and slid her hand more fully onto the older woman's ass. Minerva did groan then; and her hips twitched, bringing her hipbones into uncomfortable contact with Hermione's. It didn't matter though, every point of contact was maddening. Hermione whimpered very close to Minerva's ear. They both held very, very still, each afraid that their next movement would start something that neither of them were ready for.

"I never knew it could feel like this," Hermione breathed, her voice hot and moist against Minerva's scalp. "We haven't even done anything yet." She sounded a little incredulous.

"I know, _mo luaidh_, I know. But we had better stop." Minerva's voice sounded low and throbbing to her own ears. Hermione whimpered again, and all of a sudden, Minerva found herself on her back, pinned to the mattress between Hermione's thighs.

"Talking about stopping when you have sex fairly dripping from your voice is the very essence of ridiculousness, Minerva McGonagall." She grinned cheekily and slid off Minerva and off the bed, leaving the older woman nearly panting with the memory of the heat she could feel coming from between the younger witch's legs.

"You are going to be the death of me, aren't you, Hermione Granger."

"We won't be waiting as long as you think, Minerva." She gave the older witch a hungry look. "Not if I have anything to say about it. Now, where's a robe. I'm starving."

Minerva groaned and flung a hand in the direction of the bathroom. The younger woman found two robes on the back of the door, both of the same tartan - and cashmere - she found as she pulled them off the hooks. She slung one on the bed on top of a very shell shocked Minerva and then thrust her arms through the sleeves of the other. She found Minerva's lack of movement a little distressing.

"Don't fight your emotions so hard, Minnie," Hermione said softly. "They aren't your enemy." Minerva's brow furrowed and she turned to look at the woman who had perched next to her in the bed.

"How did you…?"

"I can see it - see you shutting down." Hermione smoothed a thumb across Minerva's cheek. "It's just us, here together, there is no need to hide from me, love."

"It's hard, 'Mione, to let myself feel. I haven't been open like this in many, many years."

Hermione favored her with a soft, understanding smile. "It's been like gravity, Minnie, ever since I left. Love pulled us back together, and what we have, what we're going to have, is beautiful. But you have to let me see what you're feeling - not just because your desire is thrilling to me, but because we're going to need to know how to read one another." Hermione allowed Minerva to gather her in her arms and relaxed into the older woman's strong embrace.

"I love you, 'Mione," Minerva sighed into Hermione's hair.

"And I you, Minnie. Now put your robe on and let's eat. I'm starving."

"I see how it is. You're just here for my house elf's cooking." Minerva's voice was light.

"Mmmmm," Hermione purred. "I am anticipating other rewards in the future, dear Tabby." She rolled off the bed and pushed the second robe towards Minerva.

As soon as Minerva's feet touched the floor, a tray of breakfast materialized on the pedestal table in the corner along with a tea service and chocolate pot. The day's paper was leaning against the chocolate pot, and a note from Tilley told them that a change of clothing for each of them waited in the bathroom, and that she had returned to Hogwarts to make sure the school's cadre of house elves remained on track in their preparations for the start of term.

After inhaling a plate of eggs and bacon and fried tomatoes, Hermione nibbled thoughtfully on one of Tilley's wild blueberry scones. Minerva was reading the paper and eating at a more leisurely pace.

"Did you even chew, 'Mione?" Minerva asked without looking up from her paper.

"I told you I was hungry. I don't know if its the magical drain or what, but I've been ravenous the past few days."

"Mmmm, probably. Why don't you shower. If you feel up to it, maybe we can go for a run before we have lunch, rather than just lounge the day away in the library."

"Yes! I'd love to. Can we do, you know," she wiggled her fingers nervously, "big forms? I need to practice."

"Hermione, we're not going to give my neighbors a heart attack. Schedule permitting, we can reenact the Ice Age in the Forbidden Forest next weekend."

"That sounds good. I want that form to be as effortless as my other one." She grinned. "It's pretty cool, now that doesn't completely freak me out."

"It is remarkable that the Heart can pull the entire being of extinct animals from its magical memory." Minerva peered at Hermione over the rim of her spectacles.

"The first time I changed into the Scimitar-toothed cat, I was attempting to surveil a family of dark wizards for the Auror Corps at Dumbledore's request. Needless to say, as a 14 stone prehistoric cat, stealth was no longer an option, and I was so unnerved that I was incapable of changing back." She chuckled. "I ended up running nearly 60 kilometers before I could calm down enough to change. Luckily, Dumbledore only had to _Obliviate_ one person in the aftermath."

"You're going to have to tell me more stories about the things that you and Dumbledore got up to, because I'm sure the stuff that isn't terrifying is probably ridiculous." Minerva scowled at her, though her eyes were sparkling. "I could always ask Dumbledore…" Hermione said significantly.

"Cheeky witch." Minerva smiled softly at her young love. "Go shower. I want to take a nice long run."


	19. Chapter 18

Hermione exited the bathroom with her clothes in her arms, clad only in a towel. Her hair hung in dripping ringlets down her back. She tossed the bundle of clothes on the bed. Minerva gulped at the sight of the bare skin of her chest and shoulders.

"Your turn, Minnie." She paused, realizing that she was very nearly naked, and then smirked at the hungry look on Minerva's face. She was glad that Minerva trusted her instincts enough to let her desire show through at least some of the time. "Behave, saucy witch. Shower." Minerva fought down a shiver and hightailed it out of her chair and into the bathroom.

It didn't take long for Hermione to dress in the jeans and, long wine-colored merino sweater that Tilley had brought from her room at the castle. She laced her boots over her pants, getting a chuckle at the fact they made her feel a bit like a bad-ass. As she dried her hair with a flick of her wand, Hermione could feel her magic just underneath her skin, the strength of it sent brief chills along the fine hairs on her arms and across her abdomen. She smoothed her hair with another spell and separated a lock out next to her ear, braided it, and pulled it over the crown of her head, pinning it into place on her other temple.

Dressed, Hermione poured the rest of her hot chocolate into her mug, warmed it, and opened the french doors out onto Minerva's terrace. It was floored with shale, and enclosed in granite and there was a delicate, carved teak table in one of the corners. Hermione leaned on her forearms on the railing, sipped her chocolate, and looked out over the sun-touched, mist covered moors.

After a few minutes silent contemplation, Hermione felt Minerva join her. The older woman's hair was dry, but still loose; it shifted over her bare shoulders, forming a curtain of soft, black waves that fell to her hips. Hermione leaned into Minerva and dropped her head against the smooth, pale skin that covered her love's strong arms.

Minerva was wearing a pair of beige cargo pants today and a tight ivory camisole that left bare a large expanse of skin on her chest. Her feet were bare. Even in profile, Hermione could see she was smiling; the corners of her lips were turned up, the dimples under her sculpted cheekbones peeking out. Hermione's nostrils were filled with the scent of lavender and vanilla and Minerva.

"You are so lovely, Minerva McGonagall." Hermione said throatily, and at her words, she could see the older woman's smile broaden and a flush spread across her cheeks and down her neck. "Are you ready to go, Minnie?"

"Just about. I need to deal with my hair and put on shoes and et cetera. Are you sure you're up for this? I do not want you stuck in fox form again."

"I'm fine, Minnie. I feel wonderful, actually." Hermione smiled broadly at the woman she loved.

"If you're sure." Hermione abandoned her mug and ducked under Minerva's arm, sliding her arms around the older woman's waist. When she rested her head on Minerva's chest, her cheek came into contact with the soft skin exposed by her tank top. She was acutely aware of a nipple poking into her neck, but she didn't call attention to it, not wanting to end up in the same predicament they were in earlier. Minerva's arms wrapped around her and squeezed gently.

"Positive." She placed a delicate kiss on Minerva's sternum. "Now let's go."

Hermione bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen to pull her tartan jacket off the hooks by the back door. She returned to the foyer to wait. Minerva descended the stairs promptly; booted, wearing a hunter green wrap sweater, her hair in a neat french braid. It surprised Hermione how talking about the feelings that she and Minerva shared had made it so much easier to look at the older woman with the eyes of a lover.

She couldn't wait to explore the tall witch's body - her anticipation surprised her, because she had never really experienced its like before. Not with Ron and not with Viktor or any of the adolescent crushes she had had as a school girl. It was liberating, this anticipation. The thrill she got from dragging her eyes along the other woman's slender body, from imagining what the wide, thin lipped mouth would feel like against her own lips, from knowing that she alone in all the world could touch fierce, strong, Minerva McGonagall and see the sweetness that was in her very bones.

Minerva couldn't fathom the odd look on Hermione's face. Her countenance was caught somewhere between fondness, wonderment and just a soupçon of desire.

"What is that look you are giving me, _mo cridhe. _Is my zipper open?" Minerva grinned, a little embarrassed at the scrutiny.

"Just amazed at my good fortune, Minerva. And a bit awestruck at just how beautiful you are."

"I'm an old woman, Hermione. You're a kind, brilliant, beautiful young woman in the bloom of her youth. It is I who is continuously made breathless by you. That, and I find myself continually grateful that you can get past my walls - that it is so easy to be Minerva around you, instead of Professor, or Headmistress, or master of Transfiguration."

"I am grateful for that, too, Minnie." She grabbed the older woman's hand and pulled her towards the door. "Now, let's go for a run."

On the front lawn, Minerva paused and used a lick of magic to raise the wards around the manor. When she turned around, Hermione was already a fox, the tip of her tail quivering in anticipation, crouching in that universal canine position that says 'let's play'. She yipped.

"Who's bossy now, little fox?" Minerva then flowed into her feline form and was immediately bowled over by Hermione, who had pounced the second Minerva had begun her change. When they righted themselves, Minerva was aghast and had a grass stain smeared across her shoulder. Hermione's mouth was open in a happy, canine grin.

"_Tag, you're it._" Hermione said, her voice strangely hollow in Minerva's skull.

"_How did you do that!_" Minerva was incredulous. "_How am I doing this?_"

"_I'll tell you if you catch me, Tabby!_" She sneezed a laugh and then took off in the direction of the loch.

They gamboled playfully for well over an hour, heading for ground higher than where they had picnic'ed the day before. Hermione's energy was boundless and she continually doubled back to attempt to bowl Minerva over. Minerva paid the favor back by tangling herself around the fox's ankles. As they ran, Hermione told her that the Heart had given them the ability to speak mind to mind while in animagus form. They both thought it would come in useful.

When Hermione finally collapsed in a panting heap, Minerva stopped next to her and meowed plaintively.

"_Can't keep up with a kitty cat, little fox?_"

"_Guess not. I'm ok with that._" The silver cat stepped closer and rubbed her head along the fox's jaw.

"_Once you catch your breath we'll head back to the castle._" The cat then sat next to the fox, tucked her tail around her feet and lifted her face to the summer sun. As the cat felt her fur become almost incandescent with warmth in the way that only lounging cats could enjoy, the flattened fox fell asleep, delicate snorts issuing from its black nose.

Minerva sighed and changed back into her human form, bent to scoop up the fox, cradling it against her chest and disappeared.


	20. Chapter 19

They spent an idyllic few days in the house on the moors, Minerva dealing with work and correspondence only a little, trusting Tilley and Filius as her lieutenants back at Hogwarts. Tilley herself popped in and out, preparing meals and briefing the Headmistress on the state of things at the school. Minerva tried to insist that she was capable of preparing their meals, that Tilley need not apparate to and from Hogwarts two and three times a day, but the little elf heard none of it, insisting that Minerva had a frightening tendency to walk away from a boiling pot, and despite the charms against fire in the kitchen (and the rest of the house), Tilley was not willing to risk it. And Minerva expected that she enjoyed cooking for the three of them in the homey kitchen that had been her domain for nearly a century.

Minerva had been desperately hopeful that things would not slide into awkwardness after their confessions and that little scene in the bedroom the first morning of their stay. There hadn't been any awkwardness, only the slight shyness and hesitancy of two people interacting in an entirely new way and on an entirely new level, but that didn't last long at all, and before the end of their stay it was almost as if they had never been student and teacher. In the library one evening, chatting with Ewan's portrait, Hermione had remarked that being in a place that had no history for them together had probably helped them come to a place where they were on more equal footing. Minerva agreed, but she also wasn't so naive as to believe that the rest of the world would come to the same conclusion as quickly.

It was was with reluctance that they stepped out on to the lawn at the end of their holiday to apparate back to Hogwarts and real life. Hermione slid an arm around Minerva's waist and leaned in; magic swirled around them, the usual discomfort of side-along apparation muted by whatever connection they had to the Heart. They disappeared, and before Hermione could blink her eyes, they were standing in the entryway to the castle, stone walls rising around them like granite cliffs, the wide, familiar stairs leading away into the interior. As Hermione's vision grew accustomed to the dim light shining through the tall windows, she could have sworn that the two gargoyles standing sentry at the base of the stair case shifted a little, the feathers on their exquisitely rendered wings fluttering a little.

Professor Flitwick came bustling towards them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere from a far corner of the entryway. Still ensconced within Minerva's arm, Hermione noted his slight look of startlement, quickly schooled away, when he saw how they were standing.

"Minerva, there is some trouble with the two other new apprentices," he squeaked agitatedly.

"Already? Haven't they only just arrived?"

Heaving a great sigh and looking thoroughly put out, he answered, "Ms. Orpington has told me repeatedly that she can't possibly be expected to live in the room provided for her, and has refused to share a bathroom with the other apprentices. And Mr. Longbottom seems to have managed to fold an extra dimension into his packing spell and consequently cannot access any of his belongings."

"Poor Neville," murmured Hermione. He must have been excited or nervous while packing to have made that mistake.

"Do you think you could assist Mr. Longbottom, Hermione? I cannot imagine that my appearing in his quarters will have a beneficial impact on his state of mind."

"Of course, Minnie," she agreed amiably, though in truth she was a bit nervous about seeing Neville again - it had been a long time, and she had pretty much dropped contact with no explanation. She hoped he would forgive her; or at least forgo the awkward questions.

"Anything else that needs dealing with, Filius?" Minerva asked briskly, falling back in to business mode easily.

"Hagrid isn't due back until tonight, and there's a thestral with an abscessed hoof, and it seems the new tower has thrown off the Great Hall approach for post-owls, which I was in the process of handling before our apprentices arrived and promptly kicked up a fuss."

Minerva spared a sigh for the sometimes ridiculous work that a thousand-year-old castle and a never-ending stream of school children could cause. "I'll need to change before dealing with the Orpington girl," Minerva pronounced, gesturing at her casual, muggle trousers and jumper. "Then I'll deal with the thestral, as I know how you feel about the creatures. Filius, could you show Hermione where the apprentice quarters are? I'll be along shortly."

With Filius's assent, he and Hermione began a twisting stroll through the castle's hallways while Minerva strode off towards their quarters. Hermione kept her pace slow in deference to the professor's short legs.

"So how was your holiday," he asked with a knowing, but also slightly curious, look, as if he wasn't sure of his suspicions, or wasn't sure what she'd tell him. And truthfully she wasn't sure what she should say; 'oh it was lovely, Minnie and I cuddled and ran around on the moors and read books for a week' wasn't really an appropriate answer at this stage of her changing relationship with Professor Flitwick.

"It was very nice," Hermione hedged. "Just what I needed."

Recalling how relaxed Minerva had appeared to be, Filius said earnestly, "It seems it was just what Minerva needed as well."

Hermione tried not to look inordinately pleased with his assessment, confining herself to a small smile, averting her eyes to look down at her feet.

The apprentice-cum-teaching assistants were offered quarters in a massive new tower that had been magically constructed for that purpose. A portrait secured by password opened into a very comfortably appointed common room, complete with a few muggle conveniences, like a television, a kitchen with modern appliances, and a telephone. Hermione wondered if they'd managed to run electricity to the school, or if the appliances had been converted to run on magic. Probably the latter. A bright young man that had graduated the year before Hermione had begun at Hogwarts had recently patented a safe and relatively easy way to do such things, so now the devices were all the rage among younger witches and wizards.

Hermione crossed the deserted room to the stairs that Professor Flitwick had pointed out before taking his leave, presumably to deal with his post-owl problem. It was five flights up to Neville's room; each floor had a landing lit by tall windows, and contained two apartments. Hermione jogged up the steps to the fifth floor - the door to Neville's room was hanging partially open, but she knocked on the door frame anyway.

"Neville, are you in there?" she queried gently. A crash sounded from within the room, and the door was flung open. Neville was even taller than the last time Hermione had seen him, the summer after Voldemort's demise. She found herself caught up in a hug, her feet no longer touching the ground; she hugged back as best she could.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking every bit the slightly bashful boy she remembered, after putting her back on her feet. "It's been a long time. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to help you with your luggage problem," Hermione answered blithely, ignoring the apology (because it was nice that he was excited to see her) and the remark about how long it had been (she really hoped she wouldn't have to explain).

"But what are you doing here," he gestured expansively at the castle around them, "at Hogwarts?"

"I'm to be Professor MacInnes's assistant in the classroom," Hermione turned her attention to the large duffle bag that was sitting on the bed. She gave it a little prod; sure enough there was an extra dimension in the spell - another fold in the little pocket that held Neville's gear, preventing him from reaching his hand in and pulling out his stuff. Now distracted by a magical problem to solve, she said distractedly, "and I'm Professor McGonagall's apprentice in Transfiguration."

She pulled out her wand; Neville's mistake was the product of an extra flourish of the wand during a critical part of the spell, she could reverse it easily. Harry had made this same mistake all the time. Boys and their wand flourishes.

Neville remained quiet while she worked, then gasped when she vanished her wand again.

"Wicked," he hissed. "How'd you do that?" Hermione chuckled, the spell she used to vanish her clothes and personal items when she transformed into her animagus was actually a variant of the one she'd just fixed for Neville.

"Just a little trick Professor McGonagall showed me."

"So what floor did you pick?"

It took Hermione a second to realize that Neville was referring to the tower.

"Oh, I'm not…" she began.

"The one across from me is still open," he said in a rush, interrupting her.

"I have a room in Professor McGonagall's quarters," she stated decisively. Neville gaped. "With our schedules, I have to be close or I'll never receive any training or be able to assist with her work - it's not like we'll be spending all day in a classroom together."

"But in her quarters!" exclaimed Neville. "Isn't it awkward?"

"Professor McGonagall is an excellent roommate, Neville. Much better than Harry and Ron, I can assure you."

"Well, that's setting the bar pretty low, Hermione," he quipped. They both laughed.

They parted with promises to meet up in the dining hall, and tentative plans to meet Luna for a meal in Hogsmeade if their weekend wasn't too busy.


End file.
